


American Rose

by justgotowisharder



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Louis, Broken Harry, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Harry hears in colors, Internalized Homophobia, Louis broke Harry's heart years ago, Love Confessions, M/M, Protectiveness, Scared Louis, Synesthesia, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justgotowisharder/pseuds/justgotowisharder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your voice sounds rosewood when you’re lying.”<br/>“I didn’t lie, Harry.”<br/>“You’re lying right now.”<br/>Louis rolls his eyes, sighing. “Honestly, fuck your synesthesia.”</p><p>(The story where Harry hears in colors and Louis’ voice is multicolored. Harry hates his disorder, Louis hates to be gay. Little they know, they’re meant to be)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. American Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I finally managed to start writing this story! I had this idea on my mind for a while, but I didn't want to start it without a basic plot on a timeline, some character sketches AND a proper research (I didn't want to talk nonsense about the synesthesia).
> 
> Now I'm making it happen! Hope you like this story because I really enjoy writing it :)
> 
> The majority of this work has been beta'd by my amazing [beta Jordan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/waddupjordan/pseuds/waddupjordan) and [Jenny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jenguin/pseuds/jenguin). All the love and loads of chocolate chip cookies for both of you! Thank you ♥ I added some new parts, thus all mistakes are mine. Enjoy! Lottie. xx
> 
>  
> 
> [ [ Read this story in Spanish here. Translation by Larryispower_ ] ](https://www.wattpad.com/154561620-american-rose-l-s-espa%C3%B1ol-cap%C3%ADtulo-1-no-hemos)  
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> [ [ Read this story in Russian here. ] ](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3452788)   
> 
> 
>   
> 
> 
>   
>  [ [ Read this story in Portuguese here. ] ](https://www.wattpad.com/story/54114288-american-rose-tradu%C3%A7%C3%A3o-larry-stylinson)   
> 

_Black._

_Black is the only thing Harry hears._

It isn’t his dad’s voice anymore; it’s black, dark bullets shooting against his pure soul and trying to hurt him the most.

“Please, dad, don’t scream,” he pleads, his voice fading away at the end of his sentence.

Des, his father, is too busy obsessing over the perfect future he planned for his son to realize the harm he’s doing. Harry is frozen on his chair, gripping the cuff of his sweater. He's known as a happy and smiley person, but right now the fear has taken control of his expression, something that is obvious in his pale face and his stiffness.

He’s praying, praying for this blackness to go away.

“Don’t be such a pussy, Harry.” Des laughs with a hint of cruelty that is emphasized by his loud voice.

“Dad,” Harry sniffs, desperate. His pulse is shaking, his breathing has reached a point where it doesn't seem to function, unable to provide air to his lungs. His mind is trying to clear the darkness, but when you hear in colors, there’s nothing your mind can do to help you. “Your voice is black. Please.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit again,” Des says, disapproving of his attitude. He stands in front of his son, absolutely untouched by the pitiful scenario. He doesn’t seem to care about the fact that Harry is scared and defenseless in front of him, sobbing in a silent way, but sharp enough to ask for help. “You always use your disorder as an excuse for everything. Man up, Harry, stop crying over colors.”

“You don’t understand,” Harry gasps, closing his eyes to stop the tears from falling. He feels like a failure, always has. His synesthesia makes him so weak and sensitive; he doesn’t want to be so susceptible. “I hear you in black. It’s horrible, dad. I can’t— Please, don’t yell at me.”

Des scoffs, rolling his eyes with irritation. It’s all black and grey around Harry. He’s desperate to catch a glimpse of some bright color, but nothing around him is bright.

“Harry, you’re telling me you dropped out of college and you expect me to be understanding about that? I’m sorry, son, yell is everything I can do.”

“It hurts,” Harry mutters in a weak voice. Des doesn’t hear him, or pretends he doesn’t. He goes to the cupboard and takes a glass, pouring whiskey into it.

Harry’s biting his lower lip so hard that it starts to bleed, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re a constant disappointment, Harry.”

Harry can’t stand it anymore. Breaking into hopeless tears of heartache, he stands up and rushes to his room. Once there, he locks the door and collapses on his bed, crying his heart out, trying to let all the sadness flow away.

It’s not his fault.

It’s not his fault he has synesthesia. It’s not his fault that hearing in colors makes him so sensitive and delicate; it’s not his fault the world has a stubborn desire to break him.

He cries, cries for what seems like ages, wetting his pillows and clutching the only thing that makes it better: his sweater.

Louis’ sweater.

Louis Tomlinson is the only person in the entire world who made it better. The only one who understood Harry’s synesthesia and respected it as any other person should respect an artistic talent.

He—  _He’s gone_ , by the way.

He’s gone for good, living in Liverpool, far away enough to put him out of Harry’s reach.

Harry takes his phone, forgetting what Louis had done to him in the past. Two years should be enough to forgive and forget, much more when their friendship used to be so strong.

He misses Louis. He needs his red.

The melancholy has a direct effect on his level of recklessness because he presses the call button without hesitation. When the line connects, his heart skips a beat.

He realizes he hasn’t talked to Louis in two years. He didn’t call even once, not even for Harry’s birthday. Louis fell into a deep and deadly silence that Harry thought nobody could break.

Nobody but a cell phone.

“Hey.”

It’s Louis.

Louis’s voice was always red, ever-changing red, traveling from shades of cherry red to crimson, passing through deep carmine, a light cerise and a strong red lust.

“Hello?”

Again. When he’s concerned, Louis’s voice sounds red brick. He probably deleted Harry’s number because he doesn’t seem to acknowledge who the caller is.

Harry doesn’t reply; the mere breathing of Louis is red enough to make things better.

“Lou.”

His name has always tasted so good on his lips. It was one of Harry’s favorite words, how those three letters fall from his tongue, so soft and tasty in his mouth.

The boy at the other end of the line doesn’t answer. It’s a harsh silence that falls over them, but it doesn’t hurt Harry.

“Harry.”

His name was always American Rose on Louis’ lips. It lights up a burning and pleasant sensation in his lower belly, it gives him chills.

“Lou, please, sing to me.”

It’s ridiculous that his first words to Louis after two years are a plea for him to sing.

He can’t help it though.

Surrounded by black, underestimated, hated, left aside, carrying the blame of a disorder he didn’t choose… That is Harry’s life. Nothing has worked right since he left.

And maybe the pain is obvious in his voice, or maybe they still understand each other with one simple world, but Louis doesn’t ask questions or yell at Harry asking for an explanation of his sudden call, he just starts humming one of Harry’s favorite songs.

Harry listens.

He listens, closing his eyes. The amaranth shade of  Louis’ singing wraps him in a cloud of serenity and warmth that causes his tight muscles to relax while his mind begings letting go of all the things that hurt him.

Louis sings and Harry realizes that he still loves him like the first day.

“Better now, Haz?”

Haz. He called him Haz.

"Yes. Thank you, Lou."

“Thanks unneeded,” Louis replies, so soft and gentle when he speaks.

It's awkward. Harry wants to scream _I love you, why did you leave? I need you, please come back;_  but Louis doesn't give him enough time.

“Have a nice day, Harry. See you around. Or not.”

He hangs up.

Louis hangs up and breaks Harry’s heart as he broke it two years ago. Harry knows, he knows how much Louis hates himself, to a point where the only way he can feel in peace is to live in a lie.

He knows because he could always understand his emotions through its colors.

“I still love you,” he whispers, his phone still to his ear.

He misses Louis.

 

__

 

“I still care,” Louis says to a line that died by his hand.

He still cares for Harry.

Liverpool is two hundred and twenty miles away from London, a three hourand fifty-four minute drive. It’s one of the largest distances Louis knew in England, which isn’t exactly the widest country in the world.

Overall, then, Louis is two hundred and twenty miles away from Harry.

He chose it. He chose it when he made his choice: lies over Harry. It doesn’t matter if he regrets it or not, regret is useless from Louis’ point of view. It matters if Harry is destroyed and in pain because of that decision.

You see, the danger in lying is that it can easily become some sort of addiction. Lying is far easier than making the real effort to admit what you are. Louis knows this better than anyone.

He knows it; nevertheless he reaches a point where he almost forgets why he started to lie in the first place.

He looks for the safety in his lies, safety that is two hundred and twenty miles apart from the only person who has loved him without conditions and in a way he thought couldn't exist in a human being.

There are thousands of questions forming in Louis’ mind, but the most important of all is  _why?_

It’s always going to be  _why?_   Why is Harry so—Harry? Why does Louis care? Why does Harry love him? Why did he sing to him when Harry asked?

He pretends he doesn’t care, but truth be told, his mind can’t escape the millions scenarios of a possible reencounter with the pretty boy he left heartbroken two years ago.

He doesn’t want to be affected by Harry. He fucking doesn’t need him, never did, Harry is not his better half.

Harry is nothing but a simple ex-friend. Or should be.

Louis stares at the phone screen, rereading the number he deleted from his contacts two years ago. Time is frozen, frozen for years and centuries until he receives a message:

 

_**we are not over, lou.** _

 


	2. Rosewood As Your Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry comes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this, so i'm pretty sure chapter 3 will be up this week.  
> Also, if you want to know, Foxes is one of my fave singers. You should check her out, she's amazing!  
> Thank you for the comments and kudos in the first chapter and thank you so much for reading! <3  
> NOTE: i have decided to make my update days on thursday and tuesday, so stay tuned! much love!  
> lottie x

_“Don’t you see the colors when you hear the music?”_

No, Louis never did. 

 _"Louis, I swear! I thought everybody could do it, but I think… Apparently they don’t. I mean…”_  

No, it's special. Special because everything about Harry Styles is damn special and unique.

When Louis Tomlinson first joined Liam Payne's record label as his main partner and lyric writer, he thought he would have the chance to meet someone else who could do it; yet he never did. 

 _“It’s something really unique, Haz," Louis had told him years ago. "Some people have it and they think it’s a regular thing because it’s the way they are. This is wonderful, it makes you so special. It’s called Synesthesia.”_

Louis is brought down to earth when a pair of chapped and cold lips presses against his. He opens his eyes, remembering the many privileges he has in the business; for example, having a pretty girl sitting on his lap, kissing him.

Whoever said money and success are the best weapons to get the girls, _well_ , it was right.

 _Girls_ , girls are what Louis is supposed to want.

"Oh God, Louis, I'm so wet for you."

This  _isn't_ the kind of dirty talk Louis usually likes, but who cares. He's a normal, regular straight guy who likes  _girls_ and pussy and boobs and stuff.

See, Louis isn’t gay.  _He’s, in fact, straight._ He’s absolutely not thinking about the only person in the planet who turns his world upside down.

"Yeah?" Louis gasps, joining their mouths in a kiss where nothing sparkles and everything tastes dull, but it's a straight kiss so it works for Louis. "Ride me? Fuck, ride me right here."

"Yes, yes," the girl nods, desperate, unzipping Louis's trousers and exposing his thick, fat dick. She's eager and so desperate; it's a little sad, Louis thinks. He doesn't even know her name, for God's sake. "Condom?”

“Yeah, dear.”

“It’s Daniela,” she reminds him with a kiss on his mouth.

Louis doesn’t answer because he’s unexpectedly too self-conscious. He looks at the girl on his lap, her lips and her eyes and nothing sparkles in her eyes.

_“Don’t you see the colors when you hear?”_

As Louis's heart skips a beat, his mind turns blank and all his thoughts disappear without an apparent reason. Daniela is taking off her panties and positioning her on Louis's dick, ready to fuck him; and Louis doesn't want this.

It's crystal clear that his excitement went downhill, since the girl pouts, disappointed, and asks: "Do you need more foreplay? Pills? Some special kink?"

_Louis doesn't want this._

"I can't do this, love," he speaks, his voice steady. "I'm sorry."

"What?" She asks, looking as if she has been punched in her face.

"My mind is somewhere else, ok?" Louis excuses himself, which is partially true. "What do you want; to fuck me while I think about business?"

"You're not thinking about business," she accuses, standing up and picking her panties from the floor. "You're thinking about someone else. Who is she?"

"I'm not thinking about someone else," Louis growls. He doesn't understand why he has to give explanations to a girl he doesn't even know.

"Does she fuck you good? Is she your dom?"

"What the fuck?," Louis says, rolling his eyes. He stands up, buttoning his jeans as he scoots her to the door. "Don't start with that shit; leave it to the shitty porn literature."

"I just want to understand!" She yells. Louis groans with annoyance.

"There's nothing to understand, dear," Louis insists, trying to be polite, but knowing that his patience is hitting its bottom. "I'm just— Distracted."

"Lies! Why do you want her and not me?"

"Just fucking stop."

"I don't want to!"

"I said stop."

"No, listen—"

"Harry, stop!"

It hits both of them with the strength of a wood stick and frizzes their bodies like a cold shower. Louis stops breathing for a second and the girl opens her eyes widely.

"I'm not Harry. I'm Daniela."

 _Of course you're not Harry,_ Louis thinks. If she was Harry, they wouldn't have been trying to fuck minutes ago because, you know, as a straight guy Louis doesn't want to fuck a gay kid.

It doesn't matter how  _pretty_  and fit Harry is.

"I know. I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I told you; my mind is somewhere else."

"I notice," she says and walks away, slamming the door in front of Louis's face.

Louis doesn't care much, as he takes his phone and scrolls down the list of recent calls until he finds _that_ special number. 

One week, one week since Harry called. And he sounded so scared, so vulnerable, so broken that Louis had an irrational need to go back to London to cuddle him and kiss him until he smiles again.

But he didn't move out to Liverpool for nothing. He had a purpose; he had a life. He had  _something_ to run away from.

Locking his phone, Louis decides to forget about Harry Styles and try again with a new girl. Harry is past, it doesn't matter loud his heart is telling him otherwise.

He stays away from over thinking by heading off Liam's office to be focused on the real business, not just a stupid problem with a boy that isn't even there.

"Louis," Liam welcomes as soon as he steps into his office. He doesn't seem too happy with him. "Finally."

"Finally?" Louis repeats, stopping at the door.

"Can you tell me why are you more focused on fucking girls than in writing music?"

"I have the writer's block," Louis explains, which is kind of true but not the  _complete_  truth.

"Louis, I remind you that we're talking about Foxes. She wants your lyrics and, for a small record label like us, that's a big deal."

"I know," Louis scoffs, leaning against the doorframe.  "For me it could be Mick Jagger, the writer block doesn't care. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work."

"You can use your time wisely, you know," Liam says, arching eyebrows. He sounds like a prick when he’s mad. He takes business too seriously, Louis thinks. "Instead of fucking, you could do something to inspire you."

"Sex inspires me."

"Bullshit," Liam speaks exasperated. Louis understands his position, but Liam  _can't_ understand his. There isn't just a writer block and Louis knows it, but he can't let anyone know. "Zayn will tell you everything about Foxes."

"All right," Louis nods, clicking his tongue. 

"Louis? Talk to me, you sure you’re fine?”

 _No. I miss him. I’m worried for him,_ he thinks but he doesn’t say because, first of all, Liam doesn’t even know about Harry’s existence.

“I’m fine,” he sighs, walking towards a chair and collapsing on it. “I’m just a little… I don’t know.”

“Distracted? Louis, you're my friend, you know? I worry for you and not only because you're part of this record label. Something happened with your family?” Liam asks. It’s not _Liam-his-business-partner_ anymore, now is  _Liam-his-good-friend._

“My family is fine,” Louis sighs. He wants to talk about Harry _so bad_ , to tell someone about him, to explain someone the beautiful person he is. But he’s straight, so the boy shouldn’t be a matter for Louis. He decides to go for the most related topic, instead. “Have you ever heard of a disorder called chromesthesia?”

Liam shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Chromesthesia is a type of synesthesia in which heard sounds automatically and involuntarily evoke an experience of color.” Louis didn’t memorize it. _Of course he didn’t._

“What? That’s sick, Lou!” Liam exclaims, impressed. “Can I learn how to do it? It would be so useful for us.”

Louis smiles because Harry is _that_  special.

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “It’s a disorder, some people have it and some others don’t.”

“It’s great, Lou,” Liam insists. “But I don’t get why it could be useful for us. Do you want to hire a synesthete?”

“No,” Louis says and there he is, lying again as he says, “I don’t know any.”

“Well, in that case, Lou, I know synesthesia is great and all, but I can’t see why it could be useful.”

“Fuck off, Liam!” Louis exclaims, folding both arms across the chest. “I was trying to make a conversation.”

“I think you were trying to tell me something, but I didn’t catch it,” Liam confesses, raising his voice tone.

He’s right. Louis is so fucked up that he can’t bring himself to get what he wants; instead he needs to be forced to do it because what he wants isn’t exactly what he’s supposed to wish for.

He wants someone to force Louis to go back to Harry because that’s what he desperately wants the most. That’s the main reason why he talks about the synesthesia.

Liam stands up and walks towards Louis. He pats him on the back in a tender way, trying to be considerate with his friend. Louis thanks him with a timid smile.

“I’ll go to buy some coffee. Do you want anything special?”

“Double shot mocha with chocolate. Thanks, Li.”

“No problem,” he says before walking out of the office. 

Once Liam is gone, Louis picks up his phone and stares at the phone number he knows he’ll never call.

“I just want him,” he whispers.

 

 

 

 

 

Louis is lucky to have Zayn as second hand, as he’s honestly the only one who puts up with his bad temper. As soon as he spots Louis on the hallway, he goes up to him with some papers in hand.

“Hello, bro,” he says, fake smile plastered on his face.

“Louis,” he says. He always sounds bored, as if the record label wasn’t enough for him. Louis likes him anyway. “How are you today?”

“Fine, I guess. Liam is mad at me because I have writer’s block,” Louis mutters, annoyed. “It isn’t my fucking fault. Tell me, lad, what do you have for me?”

“Foxes. And Daniela,” Zayn says, smirking. “I saw her, she is angry at you.”

“Yeah. We… She kissed me, but I wasn’t feeling well to keep on going.”

“It happens,” Zayn nods, palming his back. “Ok, back to Foxes. I told you that—”

Louis isn’t listening. He keeps on going with his fake facade, pretending he likes Daniela, faking interest on her. It isn’t hard to fake. He’s fine; he has always been fine, he’s really good living with his lies, thank you very much.

He isn’t thinking about him.

_Except he is._

“Zayn,” Louis interrupts him. “I’m sorry, I’m not here today.”

“Yeah, I notice. It's pretty obvious, mate. Bad day?”

“Kind of,” Louis nods.

“Go out with the girl, Louis,” Zayn encourages him. “Have fun, relax a little. This business can be stressing sometimes.”

Louis wants to reply, Zayn wants to keep talking about Foxes. None of that happens since the lift opens his doors to reveal a third person in the hallway.

Zayn shuts his mouth, annoyed with the interruption, and glances at Louis by the corner of his eyes.

Louis is too focused on his _straight-guy_ plans so he doesn’t notice the boy that just walked in.  Yet his eyes slide to the boy’s ass and—  _Fuck_.

Tiny, small little bum enfolded in a super tight jean. Glittering pink boots too girly and ridiculous to be true. Someone who’s taller than Louis and has a horrible posture.

He’s trapped.

Zayn is suddenly forgotten on his mind, he’s stepping back until his body collides against the wall. He tries to hide in the corner, trying his best to be invisible.

The man has his hair tided in a bun and is wearing a horrible shirt with flowers and butterflies. Flowers, roses, Louis doesn’t help glancing at the fucking dagger he has inked on his own arm.

Zayn, surprised by the circumstances, makes a confused frown and glances at the man. He doesn’t understand the sudden change of attitude in Louis, so he clears his throat and says, “Excuse me, lad, do I know you?”

He doesn’t know him, but he knows him. They’re fucking trapped.

“He’s… He’s Harry Styles,” Louis mutters under his breath.

Harry Styles, as soon as he hears his name spoken by the voice of Louis, turns around to face him.

All of sudden, the world around Louis collapses. As he recalls how it felt to be with him, Louis' heart skips a beat.

Louis knows him. He knows this boy, the one who has this special little way of knowing Louis better than anyone in the world.

“Fuck. Shit,” Louis stutters, only for him to hear. Zayn squints his eyes, sensing that he’s out of place, as nobody is trying to include him.

Louis wants to pretend he isn’t shocked, he also needs to pretend he’s straight, and most of all, he wants to pretend he didn’t break Harry Styles’ heart two years ago.

“Lou.”

 _Oh God_ , his voice is still the same. The same beautiful, manly, deep voice that is as blue as the sea and as dark as the night sky. Louis doesn’t know, though, because he can’t hear in colors.

Because hearing in color seems impossible unless you’re Harry Styles.

“Harry. Hey. Hum.” He’s sweating like a pig and behaving like a three years old, not like the songwriter for a notorious record label. “’Ello, then.”

Harry smiles. He fucking smiles, with his dimples and his endearing green eyes glued on Louis. Louis forgets about his surroundings because Harry Styles is in front of him.

“Ok, well, Louis,” Zayn says, irritated. “Come to my office when you’re done.”

“I’ll, bro,” Louis nods, trying to force the corner of his lips to form a fucking smile, but his brain doesn't seem to be functioning well enough to give that order.

Zayn heads off his office while Harry and Louis stand in the middle of the hall, face to face and completely silent.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” Louis snaps, breaking the silence.

Harry purses his lips, shrugging. “Came to see you.”

He’s still too tall for his own good, barely conscious of the size of his body.

“You shouldn’t have.”

Really,  _he shouldn’t have_. Louis broke his fucking heart two years ago when Harry confessed his love and Louis was too straight to reciprocate the feeling. 

He smiles, anyway, and Louis thinks that Harry is truly pretty.

He's entirely, completely, one hundred percent straight, therefore noticing the boy’s prettiness is just something that most likely everybody does.

Everybody should think about his prettiness and the way his green eyes are shining like the stars in the sky; and how tempting and pinky his lips are.

“You sang to me,” Harry points out, trying to be casual about it. Louis knows him too much; anyway, he knows how much he cares.

“Because I was drunk.”

It’s his first instinct,  _to lie about it_. But Harry can’t be fooled.

“Your voice still sounds rosewood when you’re lying.”

Louis almost forgot what it was like to live with Harry.  _Almost_. That’s a bitchy remark from Harry, but Louis probably deserves it.

“I didn’t lie, Harry.”

Harry smirks smugly. “You’re lying right now.”

Louis rolls his eyes, sighing. “Fuck your synesthesia.”

That’s Louis’ biggest fear.

Back in time, when Louis and Harry were attached at the hip, Harry was the only one who got to know the real Louis, that side of him he never showed to anyone (even Harry). 

He could know when Louis was sad, happy, disappointed. Louis’s voice was the only multicolored voice for Harry; having a color for every single emotion and behavior. Harry could know when Louis was lying; and Louis lies more often than not. He has to, as there’s something about him he doesn’t want to admit.

The younger boy turns pale when Louis speaks, losing his cheerful spirit all of sudden. It’s crystal clear that it was Louis’s comment the one that frightened him.

“I always liked that you’re the only one whose voice doesn’t have a specific color,” Harry whispers, eyes glued to the floor.

God, Louis almost forgot how much he loves him.  _In a total bro-lad way, of course_. Life without Harry is so dull, so plain. Hearing in colors had taught Harry to see the world in a different way and Louis misses it.

“I always liked that you’re the only one who notices it,” Louis replies softly. “Honestly, I sang to you, sober and all. I know you need to hear— my voice sometimes. How did you find me? What are you doing here?”

“Your record label is all over the internet, Lou, it's not hard to find you. I’m just visiting Liverpool,” he replies and Louis doesn’t need to hear in colors to know that he’s lying. “I just… I don’t know. Thought about visiting you. You're really successful now.”

Louis is fighting his urge to step forward and hold Harry’s hand. Their hands have always fitted so well together; it felt so good being held by Harry. He wonders if the feeling remains the same.

“Yeah, I'm really proud of this. I still think you’d be good in the business, since you… Hear in colors.”

Harry bites his lower lip, looking everywhere except in Louis’ eyes, finding something extremely interesting on his shoes. Louis hates it. “I haven't been really happy with this… Disorder. You know.”

Louis has a little suspicion about Harry’s synesthesia. The wonderful power of hearing in colors might be the reason that brought Harry back there.

“Beautiful disorder,” he says, emphasizing the word ‘beautiful’, as he did when Harry first found out about his synesthesia.

Harry doesn’t seem too convinced about it. The world has tricked people into believing that disorders can’t be beautiful; that disorders are something to hide. Yet Harry’s disorder is beautiful and Louis wants him to know.

“Hey, Harry, don’t give me that puppy face,” he encourages, winking at him. “Did you come to Liverpool and showed up here only to cry about something you have?  I don't think so.”

Harry stares at him as he talks and the corners of his mouth bend into a genuine smile. When Louis is done talking, he’s smiling far and wide.

“No, I didn't. I just missed you,” Harry confesses.  _God, he’s still so cheesy_. Louis wants to set himself on fire. “This place of yours is really fancy.”

“Nah, it’s nothing great,” he says, chewing his nails in a nervous motion. “I’m still living with my family, if you want to know.”

“Do you?” Harry asks, surprised about it.

“Yeah. I tried to live on my own, it lasted three weeks,” he explains, remembering the days when he pretended that he liked being alone. “I starved, talked with the walls and lived in a cave of dirt. Nope, definitely not for me.”

Harry giggles at the comment, his eyes getting crinkly. “I bet Jay is happy. She hates having you away.”

“She is,” Louis nods. “She likes to pretend I’m still five, not a successful twenty three years old music producer.”

It feels so fucking awkward, being there talking about their families as if nothing had happened between them. Louis is stuck in a world of not-knowing and he hates the feeling.

They chat a little more, acting as if things between them aren’t uncomfortable, until Harry takes his cue to leave.

“It was nice seeing you, Lou. Thank you,” he says, looking down at him. His eyes are so strong, so deep. Louis hates them because he loves them. “I never thought this… I needed you. I needed to hear your voice, you know. It changes. Always… I like it. Thank you.”

Harry struggles with his words, tripping over his own tongue as he talks. Louis understands him because they’re probably feeling the same chaos of emotions.

“My pleasure, Haz.”

They get caught up in a peculiar atmosphere where feelings can’t be labeled, but it’s easy to see than if one is made of iron, the other is a magnet. They attract each other.

“Ok. I think— I have work to do. You should go.” Louis doesn’t know why the statement feels so wrong saying. 

“Yeah, ok. Thanks. Lou… Your voice…”

Harry stops talking; Louis tries to stop dying inside. He can’t. His voice has been always their little treasure, their way of knowing they belong to each other, at least in a friendly way.

Louis has always known his voice was meant for Harry, and because of it Harry has been the only real thing in his life.

He wants to know if he’s still the only one with a multicolored voice, if Harry still keeps his disorder to himself, if he has found art in someone else.

He doesn’t want to know if he found someone else, which isn’t really straight of him. That was the main reason why he ran away, leaving London to move out to Liverpool, two hundred and twenty miles away from Harry.

He wants to know if he’s still American Rose.

“You're still the only one,” Harry stutters awkwardly, staring at his shoes. “You know. Whose voice changes— Still red.” Louis pretends he doesn’t really care. “Still amaranth when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Louis says in a low voice.

“Always rosewood when you’re lying,” Harry repeats, smiling as if Louis and his voice were the best things that ever happened to him.

Louis wishes it would have changed. He doesn’t deserve the amount of love Harry offers him; yet having it makes of him the proudest and happiest man on earth.

After a couple of minutes in silence, Harry turns around, ready to step away. Louis doesn't want this.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows this is probably the worst idea in the entire fucking planet because Louis succeeded pretty well when he broke Harry’s heart.

Also because Harry’s synesthesia has always been a problem between them. The ever-changing voice of Louis is the key to Harry understanding him from head to toes and Louis isn’t sure he wants to be understood. 

No matter what,  _he goes for it_. He goes for it because he always needed Harry at his side to make it better, to inspire him.

"Harry."

The younger boy turns to him and looks up, cautious. Louis remembers the way those eyes looked at him before. He misses that look, not this hesitant, upsetting gaze.

Louis doesn't say anything. He stares and Harry stares back. There are no words between them; Louis doesn't know how to talk.

He has a lump in his throat he can't swallow. But then again he remembers  _this is Harry,_ Harry the only one who has been by his side. Harry his best friend.

"Please, Harry," he whispers, voice barely audible. "Stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: [King by Years & Years ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_uoH6hJilc)
> 
> feedback feeds stories, i'd love to hear from you!


	3. The First Time Was With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry remembers it really well, the first time they went to a concert together. It was when he discovered he was a synesthete. It was when he discovered how special Louis was for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a crazy week for us the larries! Hopefully we're better and this fake baby bullshit will be over soon :)  
> Meanwhile, reading fics keeps the heart warm, so enjoy this chapter xx

Harry remembers it really well, the first time they went to a concert together. Louis bought tickets for Leeds Festival, as Harry had been rambling about going to see The Killers in concert. It was their first trip without mums or sisters; Louis was excited to be a grown up, even when he was still a mama’s boy.

Everything was fresh and naive, their youth didn’t leave place for any kind of insecurity. Harry was young, recently turned fifteen and Louis, being the older one, had promised Anne he would look after his son.

They were supposed to be there for The Killers, but as soon as they were in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by the euphoria of a multitude screaming and a pointless happiness, Harry found out.

He had never realized before, but Louis’s voice  _changed_.

Harry had never thought about the way senses should have functioned. You never ask yourself  _why_  you see the way you see things, you just see.

Louis started singing along in a soft shade of rosy red and finished in a tone of red lust, and Harry got caught up in the web of emotions Louis’ voice caused him.

He had always heard concerts in an extraordinary way. Where people heard yells and screaming; Harry saw a dash of multicolored voices mixing up to create a bubble of shining gold that flashed in front of his eyes, eclipsing all of his senses.

The colors made Harry feel alive, alive in a way he had never experienced before. He thought his mum’s voice, a baby pink voice, was the best thing in the world, and then he heard the color of a multitude screaming…  _Hell that was great._

Yet when Louis sang that night, the gold of the multitude turned into a shade of soft beige, letting liberty for Louis’s voice to shine in a color that Harry couldn’t predict with anticipation.

He sang so loud, the joy on his face was easy to see; and Harry listened to the colors changing and caressing not only his mind but his soul too, creating something that nobody could create.

Then, everything became too much, it all overwhelmed him. He wasn’t used to the amount of thrilling emotions he was feeling inside him. He got overexcited; his breathing started to fail him out of the blue. He grabbed Louis by his shoulder as Louis turned to him.

“Haz, are you all right?” he said and Harry couldn’t answer because he couldn’t explain  _this_.

“Lou, I’m hearing too many colors,” he babbled out, grabbing Louis’s arm before tripping over his own legs, losing his stability. Louis caught him by his waist.

“What?”

“The,” Harry gasped, “colors. Stop the colors, Lou.”

“Haz, are you high?”

“No!” Harry stuttered while closing his eyes, a desperate attempt to stop the buzz. He still remembers how overwhelmed he had felt, how lost. A strong urge to cry grew inside his chest; he wanted nothing except to be wrapped in Louis and never let him go. “Make it stop. Please, Lou, make it stop. Sing to me.”

His muscles ached as he felt a weird tickling in his numb arms. He tried to count to ten, taking deep breaths to calm his oversensitive body.  

“Haz? What’s happening? Dear God, are you all right?”

“No, I can’t—,” Harry gasped, choking with his words. “I don’t know.”

“Haz, I—.”

“Please.”

“Okay, okay, focus on my voice. How does it sound?”

“Red,” Harry gasped, burying his face on the crook of Louis’ neck. He was sobbing like a desperate puppy and Louis was clever enough to ask no question even when he had thousands.

“Okay, focus on my red, kitten. Do you hear it?”

“Yes,” Harry muttered.

It was the first time he took in consideration the abnormal aspect of his auditory perception. He stopped and used his minutes wisely to reflect, to arrive at the conclusion that, whatever it was the power he had, it wasn’t normal. _Hearing in colors wasn’t normal._

“Let’s get out of here. I got you, curly.”

Louis held him tighter, guiding him among the multitude and trying to get away from the music.

Harry cried, cried until they arrived at their small tent, where Louis covered him with a blanket and kissed him on the cheeks, trying to make it better.

The music still flashed in front of Harry’s eyes in a fluorescent madness, but Louis’ rosy voice hummed in his ear and he could relax a little.

“Any better, kitten?” Louis asked after a while of being in silence, his delicate fingertips drawing forms against Harry's skin. The younger, who was snuggled in his lap, nodded with his head.

“Thank you, Lou. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don't worry,” he whispered, caressing his back with his hand. “Haz… What did you mean when you said ‘hearing too many colors’?”

Younger Harry looked up to find the worried eyes of Louis glued on his. He snuggled closer against his body, clutching his shirt and making himself into the smallest ball.

“Just that,” He muttered, nibbling his thumb. “I mean… I hear in colors. I— It isn’t normal, isn’t it?”

“No, love,” Louis spoke in a low voice and then kissed him on the temple. They were young and in love, sexuality mattered little. Louis hadn’t made a big deal of having Harry wrapped in his arms. “It’s not normal. Talk to me about it.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Harry said, poking his head up and wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “It’s just— I see colors. I mean, I don’t know… I don’t know how people hear, I guess. A sound is made, a color I hear.”

“Haz, that’s— crazy,” Louis said, bewildered. “I mean, sounds are heard in… Sounds. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, either,” Harry whispered, voice croaked. “Is… Am I going to die?”

“Harry, don’t exaggerate,” Louis scoffed, rolling his eyes. He tried to find a comfortable position. “Hey, come here.”

Louis left the blanket aside and extended the sack on the ground. Harry followed his moves with his green eyes wide open, attentive; once Louis was done, he asked, “Lou, where’s the other sack?”

“There’s not another sack. We’re sleeping together. Come here, dork.”

Harry didn’t complain when they tried to fit into the small sack together, limbs entangled and bodies glued to one another. Once he was in the safety of Louis’s arms, he sighed loudly and said, “So I’m not going to die?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not, Haz,” Louis assured, kissing the top of his head. “But I can say is a strange thing, this power of yours.”

“I always could do it,” Harry gasped, burying his face in Louis’ chest. “I—” He considered telling Louis that his voice was the only one that changed its color, but then decided to stay quiet. It was too much for one day.

“Is this the first time you experienced something like… Like a panic attack?”

“Hum, yes. I mean, I don’t like crowded places or noisy spaces. My dad—,” Harry doesn’t continue, letting the rest of his sentence hanging there.

“Your dad?”

Harry tried to reply to another thing that the question asked. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be. We can talk to your mum and figure out what you have, okay?”

“Will you be there?” Harry asked timidly.

“Always. I’ll always be there for you.”

Harry still remembers, he remembers they spent that night cuddling, Louis whispering sweet nothings in his ear until Harry eventually fall asleep.

Later then, they found out that Harry had a degree of sensory overload due to his synesthesia. Too much of certain colors, or the wrong tone in relation to another tone in a color scheme, caused his self-esteem to crash down, raising his fear and anxiety.

Harry’s disorder usually over stimulated his senses, leading to a state where his body was too susceptible and his mind dizzied with colors.

He never had to worry about it because Louis had always looked after him since then.

All of that makes Harry wonder,  _what are they now? What kind of twisted friendship had they become?_

He tries to leave aside those thoughts as he logs into his Skype.

“Well, my brother finally remembers he has a sister!”

Harry’s smile widens as he sees the image of his older sister appearing in the laptop screen, wearing her glasses and her hair tied in a bun.

“Hiii, Gemma,” he says, grinning. “I’m sorry; you’re the one who lives in America.”

“Who can blame me, with parents like ours,” she teases, raising her eyebrows.

“Fair enough,” he says, nodding. He takes a bottle of orange juice and a package of rice cookies from the mini bar and settles in his hotel bed with the laptop on his lap.

“Ok, tell me everything about your sudden trip,” Gemma asks, following his brother on getting a package of snacks. “I talked with mum and she told me you needed space so you went to Liverpool. Is it nice? Is it true you dropped college?”

“Liverpool is nice,” Harry nods, hearing the rosy shades of his sister’s voice as she chews and talks. “And yes, I dropped college. Business is not my thing.”

“Well, I knew it before you applied,” Gemma says, rolling her eyes.

“Apparently, our father didn’t.” That’s the only thing Harry says about his father, and Gemma doesn’t seem to acknowledge his pain because she continues talking.

“Liverpool is only nice?”

"And pretty. Cold, too.”

“What about the Beatles?”

“I literally arrived today, Gems, I didn’t have time to do anything at all.”

He’s lying there, and he knows how much of a shitty liar he is, thus Gemma gets suspicious straight away.

“You didn’t do it, right?”

Harry understands his sister’s point, but he pretends he doesn’t.

“Do what?” He asks, drinking a dramatically large swallow of juice to cover up his nervousness.

“You did it!” Gemma exclaims, sighing. “You went to visit Louis!”

Harry knows his face is most likely as red as a tomato, but he tries to play it cool. “Well, I did it. What did you expect me to do? To pretend he doesn’t live here?”

“Fuck off, Hazza. You don’t fool me, dumb head,” she says, biting her lower lip. She collapses on the chair, sighing noisily as she crosses her arms over her chest. “You went to Liverpool because of Louis, didn’t you? This whole  _‘trip to clear your mind’_  is absolute bullshit.”

“Gemma,” Harry tries to interrupt her, but she’s too fed up already to be stopped.

“Harry, don’t pretend you didn’t spend last year being miserable because he dumped you. Please, that kid is fucked up, he hurt you.”

“He never dumped me because we weren’t together.” Harry hates to say it, but that’s the truth. It tastes bitter, anyway.

“Whatever! He broke your heart, Harry. He told you he’s straight, for God’s sake,” Gemma growls, throwing her arms in the air. “If he’s in the darkest closet of all, it's none of your business.”

“It is my business. He loves his family so much, Gems, but their family," he stops to swallow. "His father told him… Horrible things. It hurt Louis and still does. He thinks he’s failing his mother if he’s— gay,” Harry speaks sharp and serious this time. Gemma has been the only person who has known about Louis’s issue due to a drunk and sad confession from Harry, a confession he still regrets. “He doesn’t want this, Gem. Every time he tells me he’s straight his voice sounds rosewood as hell, and it gives me chills. He’s silently asking for help.”

“Rosewood means he’s lying?” She asks and Harry nods as confirmation. “I’m not used to your synesthesia. That disorder is so weird and confusing.”

Harry ignores the stitch on his stomach, knowing that Gemma didn’t mean to sound mean. He’s too sensitive with his disorder and Louis has been the only one addressing the issue and trying to make it better.

“I don’t know, Harry, what do you expect me to say? I don’t trust him. Why do you have to help him?” She finishes her rant with a crushed sigh.

"Because I hear his voice changing," Harry puts in plain words. "Because I can hear his lies and truths in specific colors. All of that has to mean something."

"It does," Gemma nods. "It means more than I want to admit."

“Gems, don’t forget what Louis has done for me,” Harry speaks this time. “He was there when mum wanted to send me to the doctor because of this; he was there when dad yelled at me. He always made me feel worthy when nobody did. I know you care for me too, but you’re in America, we have an ocean between us. Louis was my angel. Still is.”

Gemma doesn’t seem stunned with the confession.

“You still love him, don’t you?”

Harry considers the answer obvious, yet he replies anyway. “I do. I do, with everything that I am.”

Gemma nods, knowing that if she’s planning to fight against Harry’s feelings, she has already lost the battle.

“He asked me to stay.”

“Stay where?” She asks, frowning.

“Here, in Liverpool. We chatted a little.”

“Was it nice?”

Harry knows that Gemma is trying really hard to swallow up her opinion on Louis and he loves her for that. Despite being a really great sister, their relationship is based on Skype conversations. As much as they love each other, their bond is weak. Harry needs someone who's always there for him.

“It was… A little uncomfortable at first,” Harry admits, clicking his tongue.

“Well, the kid remembers he broke your heart, it must be awkward for him.”

Harry plays with his lower lip, squeezing it between his long fingers while his mind wanders somewhere else. “Tomorrow he invited me to have breakfast.”

“Try to stay awake, Harry. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“It won’t happen again, Gemma,” Harry assures, dead serious. “This time, I’m staying. I’m staying with him, at least as his friend. Louis deserves someone who never gives up on him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter:[Mother & Father - Broods](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-Eobk_sfIc)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm ijustgotowisharder in tumblr :) x


	4. All The Colors We Didn't See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I won’t ask about your sexuality, Lou. I know it’s still difficult for you.”  
> Louis shivers when he hears Harry talking. “Thank you, kitten. Really, thank you.”  
> “But if you want to know,” he whispers. “I don’t think you're worthless.”

The Louis on the mirror looks back at him with those blue eyes of him, soundless, doubtful. The Louis on the mirror is the same Louis who looks back at him from the real world, a Louis full of doubts and unspoken fears.

Yet he looks _okay_. He doesn’t look worthless or gay. He doesn’t look like a worthless twink, right?

_He’s not a worthless twink._

He has it difficult with Harry, certainly. Harry has always been an unintended charmer. He’s never looking forward to making people fall in love with him, but it takes no more than a word from him to make you fall.

Louis knows this, knows this better than anyone and it's the main reason why he  _wants_ Harry with him and the reason he _doesn't want_ him anywhere near.

Harry is a charmer; it appears that Louis is an easy prey.

He shakes his head, washing away his thoughts as he dresses in an old shirt that belongs to Harry, probably. One of the many things he left behind when they took different ways.

_Louis, I love you with everything that I am. Please, don’t leave me._

Louis shivers when he recalls the words Harry spoke to him two years ago.

_Worthless twink._

Now Harry is back in his life and with him is back that irrational need to prove his mother a point that probably doesn’t exist. Louis sighs, overwhelmed by his thoughts and fears.

He wishes he could stop it. He wishes he had been born somewhere else.

_Harry, I can’t be with you. I’m straight, I don’t love you the way you do._

Louis’ voice gives him chill, his lies are so crude. He’s not gay, that’s why he broke Harry’s heart. Please, stop talking about him as a worthless twink.

The Louis on the mirror is his reflection, his true self, and Louis doesn’t know if he wants to cry in despair or broke the mirror until there’s nothing left except dust.

“Fuck,” Louis says, running his hand through his hair. “FUCK.”

His phone starts buzzing on his bathroom countertop right before he starts breaking everything he has near. It’s a message from Harry announcing his arrival. Louis smiles despites of being emotionally wrecked, Harry is that timid, never felt confident enough to ring the bell.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting his insecurities fade away. Counting to ten and keeping his mind focused on Harry and just Harry, he comes out of the bathroom.

Harry is standing at the door when Louis opens. He's tall, tall enough to wrap Louis in his arms completely and protect him from the world. He's also so  _gorgeous_ , but Louis isn't supposed to notice his beauty. Harry’s face lights up as soon as Louis opens the door.

"Hi, Louis."

"Hey. Morning, Haz," he welcomes and opens his way to the house.

They don't kiss hello, but Louis knows he wanted to kiss him. He closes the door behind him, aware of the awkwardness of the situation. He abruptly doesn’t have any clue what he’s supposed to do with his hands, so he starts playing with the sleeve of his sweater. Harry doesn’t say much, neither.

Louis wants to say something, to do something.

"You're taller," he comments without hitting a point, just for the mere act of filling the space between them. He doubts he has ever sounded so dumb.

"You're prettier."

Harry Styles is  _the_ worst charmer of all, Louis thinks.

"Harry Styles?"

Much for Louis's entertainment, Jay appears in the hallway when she hears Harry's voice, surprised and pleased to see the boy. "Oh my God, look who’s here!"

Harry welcomes Jay with a tight hug, one of those hugs Louis needs in despair, but he considers himself  _too straight_ to ask for it.

"Jay, it's so nice to see you again!"

"Are you kidding? Pleasure is mine!" Jay exclaims, turning to Louis. "I didn't know he was here, darling!"

Louis stares at Harry, watching his smile growing bigger and bigger as he tries to hide it looking down at his feet. He has been always as sweet as a ball of cotton candy, Louis has to admit it.

“You should have came as soon as you arrived here,” Jay says. Louis agrees, but he can’t find the guts to say it out loud.

“I arrived two days ago,” Harry explains, running his hand through his greasy and long hair. "Didn't have the time to."

“Did you meet Louis yesterday?”

“He came to the studio.”

Jay nods, still smiling. “You're more than welcome in this house, dear.”

“Thank you so much, Jay,” Harry mutters timidly, his cheeks red as a cherry.

“Did he meet this girl you’re dating, Louis? Daniela?” Jay asks turning to her son.

_The girl you're dating._

Louis isn't dating any girl, _thank you very much._ He hates the question with his whole heart. She’s his mom and he loves his family more than anything in the world, but he can’t stop wondering—  _Why._

 _Why_  his words still hurt Louis so much, even when he knows how shitty Troy is.  _Why_  he still feels as if he had some point to prove to his mother.  _Why_  he thinks about himself as a worthless twink, as Troy said.

“She’s pretty,” Harry lies straightforward; covering Louis’ ass even when he hasn't even meet the girl.

"We will find someone for you soon, dear," Jay assures, winking at him.

Louis feels a grief caused by the inability to say something,  _anything_ ; he doesn’t want Harry to need someone else. He wants him, after all this time he still wants every inch of Harry to be his even though he can’t be strong enough to give himself to Harry.

It’s selfish, but his egoism doesn't cause him any struggle.

"Okay, let's have breakfast somewhere," Louis suggests, his jealousy ( _is he jealous?_ ) speaking.

"Don't! Stay here, we're making breakfast," Jay invites and Louis knows she has won the battle already because Harry _loves_  domesticity.

"I'd love to! Let me make breakfast for the family, Jay," Harry proposes, an offer that doesn’t surprise any of them. 

"I won't say no to the best cooker I know," she nods, patting him on his back. "Let's go to the kitchen."

Louis follows his mom and Harry, wondering why Harry fits so well in his family and so bad in his fake _straight_ life. 

Of course Louis' sisters are thrilled when they see Harry. No one can escape his charm, not even the little ones. They’re all happy to see him, and Harry spends a large amount of time admiring how big Doris and Ernest are.

Then, he takes control of the kitchen, cooking breakfast while Fizzy tells him about his life and Louis pretends to be working on his tasks, when in reality he's listening to every single word Harry speaks.

Once everyone has taken their sits at the table, Harry fills the table with a tasty menu. To Louis, Harry offers a plate of eggs and toast with bacon.

“I remember that you liked bacon in the mornings,” Harry says casually, then he goes to sit on his place after serving Louis.

 _Right_. Louis _does not_ feel his heart melting at the sweetness coming from Harry. He glances at his mother, trying to look for any kind of sign that shows him how disgusted she’s with him.

Jay doesn’t pay attention to him though, so Louis allows his heart to burst out with love for Harry.

“Harry, this is so good! We missed you like crazy,” Lottie says to Harry, chewing her toast. “You cook better than mum.”

“Lottie Tomlinson!” Jay says, scandalized.

“Oh, shut up, mum,” her daughter says, rolling her eyes. “You know it’s the truth.”

“How long have you been separated? A year and a half?” Fizzy asks, changing the subject.

“Two years and three months, exactly,” Louis answers. Not that he has the days counted because he absolutely  _didn’t_  count the days since he broke Harry’s heart. “I mean— Yeah.”

“Did you stay at home full time, darling?” Jay asks Harry.

“No,” he denies, shaking his head. “I moved to London to start college.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she nods, cutting Doris’ toast in tiny pieces for her. “And why did you come here? Vacation?”

“Yes,” Harry nods with a smile. “I’m on holidays. London can be a little… Overwhelming, sometimes.”

“I thought you said you were studying there,” Fizzy wonders. Louis thought the same, yet apparently there are lots of things he doesn’t know about Harry. 

“I did, but...”

Louis chokes on his eggs when he tries to swallow; Dan quickly helps him and pats his back. Louis doesn’t even say thanks.

“I dropped college for a bit.” Harry shrugs when he talks, voice barely audible. “I wasn’t having the best of times there.”

It sounds convincing, Louis thinks; yet it makes his curiosity grow stronger.

“Well, If Anne supported your decision, then I do too,” Jay says. Louis knows how much his mum loves Harry; as if were possible to avoid loving him anyway. “We want the best for you, Harry.”

“We do,” Lottie seconds her.

Louis wonders why Harry came back. Why he looked for him without hesitation after all the shit Louis had made him go through. He should be hating him with every muscle in his heart; not sitting in his kitchen making breakfast for his family and talking about his career as if Louis didn't know how much Harry loves him and how much he can't reciprocate that love because he's a fucking coward ass.

“What were you studying, again?” Dan asks, sipping his coffee.

“Business, but I want to be a painter. I went to college with my best friend, Nick. Do you remember him, Lou?”

“I do,” he mutters, staring at Harry. His eyes are greener than the grass, purest as the river water. Deep as the sky, endless as the universe. Louis could write poems about those eyes until the end of his days, but that’s not very straight of him.

“Okay, I have to go to school,” Fizzy announces, standing up. “Someone has to be the smart one in this family.”

“Because the role for the successful one is already taken,” Louis exclaims, raising his head up. “I’m the one.”

Fizzy throws a piece of toast at her brother, getting a reproving glance from her mother. Lottie cracks into laughter, which makes Jay stand up and put an end to the fight.

“No, Harry, absolutely no!” she says as soon as Harry attempts to pick up the dishes. “You’re in your right to take a break. Louis, wash the dishes.”

“Mother!”

“I’ll help,” Harry offers, stubborn. “I have nothing to do, anyway.”

Louis starts picking up the dirty dishes from the table while their sisters disappear to gather their school stuff. It’s a little later when the house is deep-set in an unusual silence, all the family gone.

Harry is silent while he washes the dishes and Louis can’t help staring. Not so long ago, he could stare at Harry with no guilt necessary, since he was his best friend and best friends always complimented each other.

After a couple of minutes, Louis understands that Harry won’t break the silence anytime soon. He doesn’t even glance at him, too focused on his tasks. That’s the reason Louis sits down on the kitchen island, taking a bag of crisps, and decides to ask what has been threatening his mind for the entire day.

“Why did you come back, kitten?” He throws the question with a fake casual attitude, Harry turns at him. “Be honest with me, please.”

“I have been nothing but honest with you. Always, Lou,” Harry points out. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does anyway because Louis knows how honest Harry has been. He takes off his gloves and turns off the tap, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“No,” Louis denies, honest. “I’m having like— a period of writer’s block so… I’m all yours.”

“Oh. Okay.” He silences, looking down at his feet. Louis wants to hug him, to whisper sweet nothings on his ear and promise him that everything will find its place. He doesn’t though. “I don’t know, I just— I just want my disorder to be beautiful.”

“What?” Louis asks, surprised. Truth be told, he never thought about Harry’s synesthesia as a  _disorder_. Something as beautiful as hearing in colors couldn’t fucking be considered a simple disorder. “That was you meant yesterday when you told me that you weren’t happy with your synesthesia?”

Harry nods. “Do you remember what happened when…? When I hear too many colors?”

“I do. Sensory overload, I still remember,” Louis whispers, leaning forward to take Harry’s hand in his. That’s the only thing that pushes him to break his own barriers, to stop his fear of being physical with Harry: watching him hurt.

“People hate me because of that.”

If there’s something Louis hates, it is to see that beautiful angel hurting. He was so scared and sunken in his own desperation that he didn’t have time to realize that Harry had his own fears too. “Don’t say that. How could someone ever hate you?”

“It’s the truth, Louis,” Harry speaks and his voice transmits his broken feelings with transparency, letting go of all his fears. Louis realizes how hurt he is. “They think I’m some kind of freak. I don’t fit in the world and I know it’s my fault. All I hear is black. You— You,” he hiccups, probably trying to hold back the tears. “You make it better.”

“I make it redder, you mean,” Louis teases. Harry cracks a genuine smile and giggles like a little puppy. Louis feels pleased when he makes Harry laugh. The world is a better place if Harry is smiling.

“Yeah, also redder.”

“So this trip of yours is a big lie?” Louis attempts to ask.

“No, it isn’t,” he quickly denies, shaking his curly hair. “It’s true; I needed time to clear my mind. But... I chose Liverpool because— Well, not without a reason. The reason was…”

“Me.”

Harry doesn’t deny or confirm that fact. He stands in silence, his thumb brushing Louis’ skin tenderly, trying to be smooth and delicate in his motions. Louis isn’t too fond of physical contact with boys, Harry knows it; it’s the reason he treasures those little moments of holding hands.

“I… I just,” he mutters, breaking the silence. “I don’t know. Your family is all shades of pastel tones. Your morning voice is vermilion. It makes me feel… Safe. My sense work right.” He shakes his head, frowning like a puppy and looking down his shoes. “Please, I don’t want to talk about this, not now.”

Their fingers find each other in a way that electrifies Louis’s body. The feeling he gets when Harry touches his hands is thrilling.

“We don’t need to talk about this now, but you need to know something, Haz,” he clears his throat before going on. “It's none’s fault, much less yours. Your synesthesia has always been beautiful. You can tell when I’m lying. You hear my truths even before I could accept them myself. That, Harry dear, is called beauty.”

“Thank you. I’m still not sure, though,” Harry says, smiling shyly. “You’re so good to me, always.”

“That’s my job,” Louis teases, and _he likes this boy so much it aches._ “We will find a way of showing the world how beautiful your synesthesia is, kitten. Trust me.”

Harry doesn’t reply right away, lost in his thoughts.

“I’m sorry that I came back,” Harry apologizes, embarrassed. He shouldn’t feel that way, Louis thinks, because he has done nothing wrong except pursuing what’s most important for him: _love_. “I know I shouldn’t. But…”

“Don’t apologize, there’s nothing to apologize for,” Louis makes it clear. “I’m your friend. You sent me— that text and I knew you’d come, eventually. I remember, I will always remember your sensitivity, Haz. I have always knew whenever you need to stop your over sensitivity.”

Harry nods, serious. “I know. But still, we fought the last time I saw you.”

“Kitten.” The name splits out of his mouth without wanting him, his voice going softer. Harry's pet name, the one Louis kept for Harry and just for him. “Yeah, I know and I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have been so— dramatic.”

Harry smiles with that beautiful smile of his, shining as the soon and looking at Louis with devotion, love and adoration, all things Louis thinks he doesn’t deserve.

“That’s okay, Lou.”

“That’s not okay,” he says, shaking his head. “We were friends, H, I should have respected you. You have always been sensible and I knew that, I made a mistake so I want to apologize.”

It doesn’t sound too good, being Harry’s  _friend_. But at least it’s something.

“Okay. Thank you. Really.” He’s honestly grateful and that makes Louis feel a little better. “I may have hated you a little at first,” he jokes, eyes getting crinkly. “But I still—”

He doesn’t continue, but he doesn’t need to, Louis knows what comes next. _I still love you_ , he knows Harry wanted to say.

He gulps, shaking. “I’m sorry,” Harry whispers shyly. “I know this is hard for you.”

Louis wants slap himself on the face. He doesn’t want to make it hard for Harry, for God’s sake, the kid already has a lot of problems with his unsympathetic father and the fact that people always labels as  _disorder_  the things they can’t understand.

“I… Maybe.”

Harry stares at him so intently that it makes Louis wants to hide in his the bed and never come out.

He’s not safe with Harry because he can’t control his feelings for him.  _He can’t just lie._

“I won’t ask about your sexuality, Lou. I know it’s still difficult for you.”

Louis shivers when he hears Harry talking. He tries to pass the comments as an unimportant thing, yet it’s vital between them. It acknowledges the fact that Harry still loves him and Louis is unable to accept himself.

If the yells of Troy inside his head has always threatened Louis self esteem, Harry has always known. If the words of a person that is gone for good have marked Louis forever, Harry knows.

“Thank you, kitten. Really, thank you.”

“But if you want to know,” he says, reaching forward to caress Louis’s cheekbones with his thumb. Louis trembles when Harry touches, but his attempt to draw back fails when he feels how warm Harry’s fingertips are on his skin. “I don’t think you’re worthless.”

Louis shivers when he hears the words. _Parents can fuck their children’s lives so much_ , he thinks.

“Haz, how long are you staying here?”

“Hum, one week I guess.”

Louis wants him to stay forever, but he has to find a better excuse than needing his company. Needing someone the way he needs Harry, well— it isn’t what he’s supposed to do. It isn’t what _perfect-straight-Louis-Tomlinson_ would do.

“Well, would you like to stay here for the week? I mean. In my house? There’s an empty room, so…”

Harry doesn’t even open widely is eyes, he’s just there still like a statue. He receives Louis’s pleas with the calm of a Sunday morning and an inexpressive face.

“Haz, at least pretend you’re excited about this!”

“I’m excited, Lou, I honestly am,” he comments right away, but he doesn’t look excited and it upsets Louis more than it should. “It just— I’m… You took me by surprise.”

Louis pretends he isn’t leaning into Harry, demanding proximity. “Haz, please. Stay with me.”

He sounds _needy_. Louis Tomlinson never sounds needy, but then again, Harry turns his world upside down. He’s pleading as if Harry could have some sort of power to help him accept himself. Which he does, his beautiful power of hearing Louis’s lies in color.

Louis vacillates. “I mean… Do you want to—?” Louis desperately needs to talk about something to cover up the silence between them.

“That’s okay. Yes, I’d like that.” Harry nods and he fails on hiding the joy the suggestion causes on him. “If you don’t mind.”

“Don’t be stupid, Harry, I’m the one asking. Of course I don’t mind.”

“Sure?”

“Sure,” Louis nods. “H, as long as you stay here, pastels are everything you will hear. Promise.”

“Your red is enough for me, anyway.”

Louis doesn't understand what he did in life to deserve the wonderful human being that Harry is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm done with finals so chapter 5 is around the corner. don't forget to give me feedback, i want to know what you guys want to read here. also, i'm ijustgotowisharder on tumblr :) xx
> 
> Song for this chapter:[ Uncover - Zara Larsson ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-PXEe-qeK4)


	5. Significance In The Real World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is part of Louis and that's what scares him the most.

The empty piece of paper resting on the desk seems to be laughing at Louis. If there is something the young producer hates, is the fucking writer's block. It has no sense at all, inspiration shouldn't be allowed to appear and disappear out of the blue. He lives off this, for God's sake, music is his money income, he can't have a writer block.

Louis sighs in resignation, glancing at the pitiful rhythmic framework he got to write. He stands up and walks towards the window. The record label where he works is located on the nineteenth floor of a fancy modern building, filled with large windows, windows that offer the best view of a Liverpool night. Night has fallen upon them, only Liam and Louis are left in the label.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and his heart skips a beat. If the first person that pops into his mind is Harry, Louis won’t accept it.

Two days have passed since Harry moved out to his house (temporary, but still) and Louis is already made a mess.

However, he tastes the bitter flavor of disappointment when he reads the name of his mother on the screen.

 

**Darling, are you coming? X**

 

The answer is no. Louis is the kind of family guy, he enjoys being with his family, but he knows his family depends on the money he makes with the record label, therefore, he better find the correct lyrics or he won’t be going anywhere soon.

 

**No mom, sorry. Have work to do.**

 

Jay replies right away:

 

**I’ll send you food by harry :) Be safe, dear, don’t overwork please! Xx**

 

Well, if his mother is sending Harry to him, that means they will have dinner together. The mere thought causes in Louis a special rejoicing, it feels as if his mother has given him her blessing, fading his insecurities away (at least, momentarily).

Harry is the best company Louis can have. Louis didn't remember how much he enjoyed being with him, regardless of the feelings involved (feelings that shouldn't exist, without a doubt). Harry has always been his best friend and the one who knows him better. They have always been able to speak from music to Plato, through all the topics without feeling the slightest hint of discomfort.

 _Harry is part of Louis_ and that's what scares him the most.

**lou, open the door, it’s me :) xxxx**

Louis chuckles when he reads the message and tells him to come in since doors are open. He hears the footsteps when Harry walks in and he chooses to be silent as he stands up and walks towards the door.

He finds the boy staring at the records and posters hanging from the wall, carefully studying the dates and band names.

Louis checks him out, savoring with his eyes how endless, gorgeous and delicate Harry’s body is. Louis craves that body, he craves it more than anything in the world.

_Worthless twink._

He shivers as Troy’s words hit his mind, reminding him of who he is and who he's supposed to be. The greatest Louis Tomlinson doesn't crave another man’s body, that’s for sure.

“Like it much?”

Harry turns around as soon as Louis speaks.

“Are you kidding?” Harry asks, looking at Louis. “You worked with Lights! That’s awesome!”

 “We produce songs for Foxes, too,” Louis explains, pointing at the picture. “She’s awesome. All the bands and artists with work with aren’t super famous, but they have— Personality.”

“They do,” Harry agrees. “I love Lights.”

“How could you not? You’re a hipster, my dear.”

“Shut up,” Harry giggles. He shows Louis the lunchbox Jay sent to them. “Your mom sent you dinner. Wanna eat?”

“Please, I’m starving,” Louis nods, pointing at his office. “Let’s go, lad,” he calls him lad, but it doesn’t sound right. He wants to call him _kitten, cutie, pumpkin, baby, my beautiful little baby boy who I want to cuddle for the rest of my days_. He goes for lad because lad is straight enough.

It’s still a little awkward between them, or at least Louis feels so. Harry doesn’t talk much and when he does, Louis feels as if he was accusing him of something. He’s fucking paranoid and he hates it.

“How did you sleep last night? Is the guest room good?”

“Actually, it’s really comfy,” Harry nods as he eats his ridiculous tasteless salad while Louis eats his burger. “I have a Power Rangers blanket.”

“It’s mine. Mom keeps all my childhood trash,” he teases, taking a bite of his food. “She was so thrilled when you came.”

“Your family has always been really nice to me,” Harry remembers, smiling at the memories. “Jay used to complain all the time when he slept together, remember?”

 _Louis remembers_. He remembers it really well; he hates how Harry throws the question, pretending it’s just rhetorical when he knows him well enough to know he’s testing him out.

“Yeah, I remember.” He tries to hide his shaking pulse stirring his coffee.

“So,” Harry coughs, licking his lips. His fake calm voice tone warns Louis that something is coming. “Are you really dating— Daniela?”

Louis chokes with his food, swallowing hard. The look in Harry’s face tells him that he has been dying to ask it since Jay mentioned Daniela, but he didn't feel he had the right to ask. Harry has always been the jealous type and never had much of a problem to admit it.

“No.” Louis is emphatic in his answer.

“Right,” Harry nods, doubtful. “But Jay said…”

“We’re more of fuck buddies, but you can’t say that to your mom.”

He swears Harry's eyes sparkle with jealousy, effect that causes an indescribable sense of adrenaline in Louis.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

“I like her,” he adds quickly. Louis feels the way his throat closes as he talks; drowning in the lies he doesn’t want to say. “I mean it in a friendly way. She’s nice but— you understand, don’t you?”

“I think I do,” Harry nods, beaming with a hint of misery on his pretty face. Louis’s heart aches, he wishes he could kiss him and tell him that everything will find its place, or he hopes so.

“So, yeah.  Simple, I don’t want to marry her or anything, to be honest.”

“I’m glad,” Harry mutters under his breath, realizing right away what he had said. “I mean, no, I’m no-not-t glad you don’t want to m-a-arry,” he tries to swallow, nervous. “I re-really want you to get married but—”

Louis grins. “You’re cute when you stutter.”

“Fu-fuck off, Louis,” Harry growls, rolling his eyes.

“You first, Styles.”

This is who we are, Louis thinks. A pair of teasing and cheerful best friends with no blank spaces between them.

“So, Lou,” Harry says, throwing away the empty salad container. “How is your work going?”

“Like crap,” Louis replies as he relaxes on his chair. “I can’t write a single sentence and I don’t know why. I’m the trashiest music producer ever.”

“You’re not, Lou. You’re having a block, that’s all. Do you have the chords?”

“I do,” Louis nods, handing Harry a notebook. “Melody without lyrics, I’m useless.”

Harry’s eyes scan the written chords silently, humming while he tries to find their harmony. When he’s done and Louis thinks his heart can’t be beating anymore faster, he says, “I can help you with this.”

“What do you mean?

“I don’t know,” Harry says with frankness because he just grasps the idea but doesn’t have the plan. “Maybe we can… Create multicolored sounds? We could write a great single together.”

Louis doesn’t like the idea, he loves the idea. It means having Harry close, with him; a harmless excuse to be with him anytime and anywhere. It means everything Louis needs and wants. Back in his mind, his intentions disgust him; he doesn't like the place left for Harry. He deserves someone better, Louis knows him, but his brain can't cope with the idea of Harry being with someone else, even when it can't grasp the idea of him being with Harry, neither.

“Harry, are you kidding?” he says, thrilled. “I love the idea! Yes, of course!”

“We can play the right tones, find the best pitch and dynamic to make different dashes of pastel and fluorescent tones.” It’s obvious by the look in Louis’s face that he’s hardly catching anything. “I’m sorry; I know this is confusing for you.”

“Nah, I just need time to study the color palette. I don’t even know the primary colors.”

“It’d be useful,” Harry nods, enthusiastic. “Sounds exciting.”

“I know,” Louis nods, winking at him. Harry tries to avoid blushing, but he fails. “Now, you need to meet Liam.”

“Liam?”

Harry’s happy attitude fades away with the blink of an eye. Louis doesn't pass by his gloomy expression even when Harry tries to hide it behind a fake smile.

“He’s my business partner. A great buddy, we’re friends too,” Louis explains, unsure of his words as Harry doesn't seem to believe them.

“Okay.” Harry accepts, but his face is wax white and straight serious.

“Harold is grumpy,” Louis says, arching an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not grumpy,” Harry shakes his head, biting his lower lip. “I don’t feel comfortable meeting people, that’s all.”

“What? Liam is great, bud, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Harry sighs in frustration.

“Maybe Liam is great,” he nods. He’s acting a little strange for Louis’s likeness; this is not the real Harry. Harry is never sullen or moody; he’s quite the opposite, to be frank. “But I don’t want to meet him.”

“Harry, Liam won’t bite you.”

Louis is raising his tone, as soon as he realizes he tries to lower it down since he doesn’t want to hurt Harry with his saturated tones.

“Louis, stop,” Harry says, his attitude sharp. “I don’t want to meet people right now; maybe I won’t want to meet people never again. I’m fine like this; I don’t need a constant reminder of how much of a freak I am.”

“Harry, where all of this is coming from?” Louis asks, trying to keep his composure. “Talk me about this or we won’t be able to fix it.”

“Talking about people who can’t be fixed,” Harry growls, sending daggers eyes to Louis.

Harry shoots back at Louis because he’s frustrated, too; and his frustrations lead him to be mean, something he rarely is. Louis doesn’t get mad, anyway, because they know each other too much.

“Stop being a dick and tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“Everything is wrong with me.”

“Harry!”

“My father already said it!” Harry yells, frustrated.

It hits Louis and the first man he remembers right away is Troy, not Des. The power of a parent to destroy their child’s self-esteem and self-value it’s so huge that it makes Louis shiver. He sighs crushed. _At the end of the day, they’re both broken._

“I don’t really want to talk about my dad,” Harry adds, his voice failing him at the end.

“Is him the reason you came back, Harry? Is he the reason you dropped college? He’s— is he hurting you, babe?”

Harry sinks into his seat, reaching his legs up and hugging them with his long arms. He doesn’t reply though. He just waits, waits for something that Louis doesn’t know what it is.

“Hey, kitten." He doesn't realize when the pet name slips out of his mouth (Okay, he does realize, but he pretends he doesn't. He likes calling Harry 'kitten'). "What’s wrong?”

Harry licks his pretty puffy lips and looks down, trying to find the right words to speak.

“I… Yeah. My dad was the reason. ’M just… Hate to be at home sometimes,” Harry says, wiping his running nose. “He doesn’t believe in my sensory overload. He says I’m a failure.”

“Haz, love,” Louis whispers, standing up to get closer to Harry. He kneels down next to him, kissing Harry’s forehead. Harry is surprised when Louis kisses him better, but he doesn’t comment. “For God’s sake, you’re not a failure. Can’t he see how much your oversensitivity affects you? That can’t be faked, that is not a lie.”

“My dad thinks I’m useless,” Harry explains and his green eyes grow watery. “I’m… I like my synesthesia, I always did—” he hip cups as he talks, sobbing, “but he thinks that as I can’t hear right, I’m just… He doesn’t like the way I am. He wanted me to study business. When I told him I wanted to major in arts; he laughed at me and called me a waste of time.”

Harry’s heart is beating erratically inside his chest. Everything about the moment is making him nervous, and being nervous makes him even more anxious. It’s a vicious cycle, he’s glad Louis is there to help him.

“And your mom?”

“She doesn’t say much when it comes to my father. She’s… I don’t know, too in love?”

“I understand,” Louis nods, even though he doesn’t understand. Harry doesn’t either, he could never put someone over his children and he doesn’t even have children.

“I’m so tired of people hating me or loving me because of this thing I have,” Harry sighs in Louis’s shoulder, holding onto him. Louis embraces him tighter; and although Harry doesn’t get why he’s being so physical with him, he allows his body to relax and melt into his arms. “I moved into college hoping that people would sound colorful. They don’t. They mock me, they’re all gray. You… You always liked my synesthesia, like I did when I found out about this. Even when… I told you—”

It shoots right to Louis’s heart, opening a bleeding wound on it. Harry doesn’t keep on talking, but it isn't necessary any clarification. The look in his eyes is painful and it’s hurting Louis in more ways that he imagined. Cutting their relationship back then was the healthiest thing, probably, because they both didn’t have a clue about how far their bond could go.

“I still like you and your synesthesia,” Louis assures, ignoring the reference Harry makes to his love confession.

“Nobody really cares about me.” Louis hesitates, standing so close yet so far from Harry. His eyes are glued on his cheek, cheek he’s dying to kiss. Harry needs _love_. Louis feels the shivers running up his spine as he leans into, slowly. The younger boy doesn’t react, which makes Louis stop halfway his face. Harry looks up at him with his watery eyes, eyes that literally froze Louis up. He remains still like a rock, unable to do anything except stare. He feels the warmth in his heart growing bigger with every glance, and he doesn’t know how long it will last, but he wants it to last forever. “Everybody mocks me because they say I take it as a big thing when in reality it’s nothing.”

It breaks his heart to see that boy so helpless on his arms, so lost and cursed with something that was meant to be beautiful. Nobody should ever mock him for being too sensible about it.

“Haz,” Louis calls tenderly, wiping Harry’s tears with his hands when the boy looked up at him. _Harry is so beautiful_ , Louis thinks. “H, babe, I know it’s hard, but you shouldn’t stop linking your disorder based on other people’s judgments. I know people don’t understand this.” Harry opens his mouth to talk but Louis presses his finger against his lips, keeping him quiet. He feels the rushing electricity of having Harry’s lips brushing his skin, but he tries to ignore it. “They can't understand that it’s not just a disorder for you. Harry, you have built a philosophy and a way of living based on that. You have learned to see the world in a different way, you have learned how to live in colors, not just to hear. That’s what makes you unique, H. If people can’t see it, shame on them.”

Harry stares at Louis with his eyes wide open and shining with tears, tears Louis hopes to be happy ones. The younger boy just stares, trying to process what he has told him and lost for words, lost for any kind of reply.

“I love you,” Harry whispers shyly, totally out of the blue.

Louis hears the words but doesn’t understand them. Well,  _yes_ , he understands what ‘ _I love you_ ’ means, but he can’t cope with the idea that someone, Harry Styles of all of them, loves _him_.

He made the same confession two years ago, opening his heart and feelings to Louis, a Louis who panicked so much that he ran away, trying to escape from someone who was already settled into his heart.

Harry can’t love someone like him, yet he does.

“Harry…” Louis speaks in a weak voice, almost inaudible.

“I mean it in a friend-to-friend way,” Harry clarifies right after, wiping his nose with the cuff of his shirt.

_Oh. Right._

Harry has his head lolled to one side, face to face with Louis. They look into each other, unsure of their next step. Louis wants to jump over Harry and kiss him, but  _that’s not very straight from his part, positively._

“Friends,” Louis whispers, repeating the word and trying to believe it. “We’re friends.”

“We’re friends.” Harry’s voice is hoarse. It doesn’t make Louis hard. Of course no, he loves girl’s voices. “Only friends.”

The words hurt like a stab in Louis’s stomach.

“I’m sorry that I pushed you,” he whispers, defeated. “Maybe this is not the right time to meet Liam.”

“No, Lou. I overreacted. It is the right time.”

“Sure?” Louis asks, confused.

“I mean… It scares me, but… I got you.”

“Yes, you do, silly,” Louis nods and its stupid how much trust Harry puts in those words. “Plus, you don’t have to worry. Liam is a great buddy.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. His previous sadness seems to have faded away completely.

“Be right back, Haz.”

Harry watches Louis rush away from the office and after he wipes his dried tears and fixes his messy hair, a tall and elegant man appears in the room in company of Louis.

“H, this is Liam,” Louis introduces, keyed up. “Liam, meet this curly haired dork.”

“Harry, pleasure to meet you,” Liam says. He’s nice, Harry notices. His voice sounds orange like a summer morning, warm and inviting. “Louis talked a lot about you. I can’t believe you hear in colors, it’s such an amazing ability!”

“Thank you,” Harry thanks, honest. He doesn’t want to lie; it surprises him to see Liam really excited about his synesthesia and calling it _ability_ and not a _disorder_. “I… It’s weird, you know. Finding you can do it.”

“I can imagine,” Liam nods, smiling. He turns to Louis to pats him on his back in a friendly way. “This little man trusts you, so I do, too.”

“Thanks, but forget the ‘little’,” Louis scoffs, annoying. Harry thinks Louis can’t sound dreadful even when he’s angry because he’s honestly a little kitten. “I’m not little. None of my parts are.”

“Okay, too much information,” Liam says, grimacing in disgusts as Harry giggles. “So, Harry Styles, welcome to our record label. You’re part of this, now.”

Harry wasn’t expecting this. He thought helping Louis would be a great excuse to enjoy his company, but he didn’t think it could lead to an actual job that he _actually_ liked. It’s more than what Harry could ask for. “Am I?”

“Of course. Do you want me to write an official announcement?” Liam teases him, joyful.

When Harry looks at Louis, wide smile on his face, he finds fear in his eyes. He doesn't like that look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm inspired and I'm enjoying writing this, as you might notice. comments and kudos very welcome! xx
> 
> Song for this chapter:[Waiting For Love - Avicii ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ncIVUXZla8)


	6. Wrapped In You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can I—?” He can’t finish the question, unable to speak the words he’s dying to ask. Harry understands, anyway, because he nods silently with the head.
> 
> “You can.”

Louis was sixteen when his father came back. He can recall every detail of the moment, a moment he wasn’t meant to see. It was a private conversation between his mother and father, a conversation Louis shouldn't have heard.

He had thought Troy was back at him to mend the broken promises and finally be a father. It didn’t matter how good his stepfather Mark was with him, in the bottom of his heart Louis still wished Troy wouldn’t have abandoned him.

Foolish boy Louis was, his father was there to ask Jay for money. Jay had cried, Louis remembers. The worst pain in the world is watching your mother cry knowing that you can’t help her because, first of all, you’re not supposed to be watching.

As pouring rain falls outside, raindrops hitting the roof as the memories hit Louis’s mind, he turns over in his bed, shutting his eyes and trying to wash away the words that come next.

_Worthless twink._

Troy called his own child a worthless twink. A sixteen years old who’s sexually was blooming was, for him, a worthless twink.

Louis still pretends he doesn’t care. He pretends his father’s words never hurt him.

He pretended and completely dismissed the possibility of being gay. Louis drowned in an endless web of lies where his life was pretty, straight and perfectly planned out. His life was made up to prove a point to Jay, to prove Troy wrong.

But there is Harry— _Harry whom Louis loves with everything he has and everything he has not._

Harry, who’s also a male and proves Troy right.

Louis knows he won't fall asleep anytime soon. His mind is stuck thinking that Harry is in the next room, probably sleeping naked considering that loves to sleep fucking  _naked._

Louis pretends the vision doesn't make him hard.

He rolls over in bed lying on his stomach and buries his face in his pillow, growling with frustration. The brush of the sheets against his semi-hard cock makes him whine, giving him a sudden rush of pleasure.

He won't get off on the idea of a naked Harry spread out in bed, helplessly begging for Louis to wreck him. He won't get off on the idea of the beautiful, milky skin of Harry dirty with Louis' cum.

Before Louis can think rationally about it, he starts moving in a slow rhythm against his bed, rubbing his cock against the soft material of the sheets. He's needy and horny as fuck and his brain doesn't seem to work correctly when he needs any kind of sexual bustle.

He shoves harder, gripping his pillow against his chest, arching his back a little and leaning back his torso to gain more friction on his lower area. 

He really, really wants to cry his name, to beg him to fuck him even when he's not physically present. The idea of Harry watching him getting off alone sends him electric pulses all over his body, ending at his lower belly.

Brief flashes of pleasure attack Louis's body, his orgasm building up in his lower belly. He wants to pretend he's getting off with boobs bouncing, girls’ asses and a pretty wet pussy. His hand sides under his briefs to find his throbbing cook; he was never this hard, but then again, he has a naked Harry next to his room. He makes a tiny moan as he starts rubbing his cock, gasping for air.

When he comes, the only thoughts in his mind are pretty blowjob lips and certain thick cock in his ass. He buries his face in the pillow again, harder this time, to muffle the sound of the name he sobs when he comes, a name he doesn't even want to hear himself.

He waits for his shaking pulse and his breathing to come back to normal, feeling the wetness on his crotch area. He just messed the sheets, he's like a little boy who can't control himself.

It embarrasses Louis in a way that's probably unusual for someone of his age who has wanked so many times before. It was fucking great, one of the best orgasms he got masturbating and all because he thought about fucking _Harry Styles._

Louis gets out of bed in desperate need of a shower. He hopes nobody heard him wanking because it would have been embarrassing. The guilt lay like a rock in his chest, guilt that is coming somewhere else than his previous acts.

As he walks out the door, the guilt turns into a horrible sentiment of solitude, of emptiness. He’s nothing, and all the nights he shared with girls meant nothing because at the end of the day he’s left alone with an infinite desire for someone he can’t have.

The house is dark, the silence filling the rooms interrupted by the hammering in the roof and the occasional peal of thunder. Louis walks bare feet through the hall until he reaches the bathroom where the door is closed. He waits a couple of minutes until the one who opens the door is Harry.

Louis goes crimson red as soon as their eyes meet, remembering how hard those lips of him got him. Harry is half asleep; thank god he's wearing his briefs.

“Thanks of God,” Louis mutters more for himself than for Harry to hear.

"Hum?"

“You're wearing briefs,” Louis whispers in a low voice.

“I am? I wasn’t wanking,” Harry explains, his sleepiness making him interpret the intention wrong. Louis doesn’t laugh though; his expression turns dull and circumspect. He loses his restriction too easily. “I mean... If that.”

A crash of lightening lights up the house for a second.

“No. I didn't mean it in that way. Just... My house is full of little girls, so. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods in agreement. “Sorry, bad joke.”

Louis nods and a shy smile appears on the edge of his mouth. “You... You used to love penis jokes,” he mutters with a hint of strange contentment in his voice.

“I still do," Harry whispers, getting closer to Louis to avoid raising his voice.

“Why doesn’t a chicken wear pants?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answers and he’s already giggling, the idiot.

“Because his pecker is on his head.”

The joke is lame, but it makes Harry burst into an outburst of giggles. He hugs his stomach with his arms and laughs like a little boy, trying to muffle his sounds.

“It was awful,” Harry says, recovering his breathing.

“You laughed,” Louis points out, arching eyebrows. He doesn’t realize how wide and fond his own smile is.

“Because it was bad!”

Louis finds it easy to forget that he has been getting off on this pretty boy in front of him sucking his cock and fucking him into oblivion. Also, as soon as Harry is with him, the aching sentiment of loneliness fades away.

“Gonna go back to bed, Lou,” Harry announces, yawning.

Louis still remembers how tiny and childlike Harry looks when he sleeps. He wants to cuddle him.  _For friendly purposes_ , of course.

“Okay. I have to pee. Night, Haz.”

“Night, Lou.”

Louis follows Harry with his gaze while he walks towards his room. Once Harry disappears from sight, Louis cleans himself up a little, pees and goes back to his bed _._

_Or he tries to._

He stops in front of the guest room, remembering those nights when a helpless Harry asked him to spoon him at night and sing him to sleep because Louis's voice was rosy red and Harry had been hearing only black.

He feels shivers when the memories fill his head because Harry has this power of making him defenseless, of catching the truth in his lies just thanks to a color.

He's finally walking into the room, finding Harry curled up on his bed like a little boy, back to the door. His body moves to the rhythm of his breathing and Louis wants to cry because of his beauty and peacefulness.

Louis knows he’s being weak and weak means _worthless_. He shivers when he remembers, knowing that his mother is there and finding him cuddling with Harry would only mean his father was right and he,  _is in fact, a worthless twink_.

He wants to cry, full of fear and loathing for his father.

“Lou?”

Apparently Harry felt Louis’s presence, as he turns around and finds Louis standing at the edge of his bed. His voice has an immediate effect on smoothing his soul. Harry’s love for Louis is more powerful than his insecurities.

“Hey,” Harry asks when Louis crawls into bed, snuggling at his side. “What are you doing here?”

That’s a question Louis doesn’t want answered right now.

“Still like to be the little spoon, Harry Styles?”

“I do,” Harry nods. His sleepy voice sounds fluffy and a little bit rougher than usual; provoking pins and needless in Louis’s lower belly.

His blue eyes stare at Harry, who looks at him with a sleepy expression. He seems confused as if Louis was some kind of impossible dream to exist in real life.

“Louis.”

He spokes his name so soft that it makes Louis’s heart warmer.

“Can I—?” He can’t finish the question, unable to speak the words he’s dying to ask. Harry understands, anyway, because he nods silently with the head.

“You can.”

Louis chuckles at the words, but he doesn’t spoon Harry right after. He waits. He waits until the idea of spooning settles on his mind and he's convinced that spooning is something all best friends do, not only couples.

Louis hesitantly rests his hand on Harry's arm. The contact of his milky skin against his fingertips makes him shudder; and he needs, _he needs him_. _You're so beautiful_ , he wants to say, but then again Troy tells him he's a whortless twink.

"Kitten," Louis gasps as Harry reaches his hand to Louis's, intertwining them.

His final push comes from that aching feeling of knowing he's at the edge of losing Harry, of losing the light of his life. He won't come back a third time if he breaks his heart again, and Louis doesn't want to live without him.

When Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, bringing him impossible closer, Harry makes a tiny moan and curls in a smaller ball. Louis finds it harder to breath; he closes his eyes and counts to ten. Somewhere inside his chest, he feels the desperation to be loved.

“Missed this,” Harry speaks with a tiny voice.

Louis can’t articulate a word. Harry feels delightful warm against his body, he smells like home and Louis _wants him_ , wants him so bad, but he can’t claim him.

“This is friendly,” Louis mutters, burying his face on Harry’s silky curls, inhaling his smell of Harry. He feels the tears pricking his eyes, tears of pure sorrow. He tries to control his emotions, ending with a shiver of his body. “Friends.”

“Friends,” Harry whispers back.

They both fall asleep wrapped into each other, the sound of rain and the world of dreams fading their insecurities away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i reeaaaaally liked this chapter, fluffy fluff is my cup of tea lol. hang on there, next chapter is going to be REALLY important for the story development ;) please let me know your thoughts! :) Much love, Lottie. xx
> 
> Song for this chapter:[ I'm a Ruin - Marina & The Diamonds ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7z19xLjNXs)


	7. The Widest Infinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t understand,” Louis sobs, turning around to look at this boy that has been messing up his life. “I did this to you. Again. Harry, I’m so fucking messed up. Shit, Harry, I want to fucking kiss you. Right there?” Louis asks, stepping forward and pointing at the car. “I could have kissed the shit out of you. But I can’t. I can’t because it doesn’t fit this crazy fake life I build up for my mom, for my father. It doesn’t fit my…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my tumblr friend [Cande](http://i-wont-float-no.tumblr.com/) because she's simply awesome <3

_Does Harry remember? Does Harry remember they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms?_

The questions are hamming his head, drowning him in a sea of doubts and insecurities. They fell asleep together, it’s a fact. If Louis woke up next morning and left the bed before Harry realized, it didn’t mean anything.

Harry doesn’t seem to remember as he talks about the song they’re composing. His eyes still sparkle when he talks about what he loves. He’s there speaking about colors and music and his eyes are sparkling. It gives Louis chills, always has. He wonders if there's something that changed between them.

Probably, Harry's love for him changed. You can't possibly be in love with someone who kicked your butt when you confessed your love. It's impossible for Harry to keep his love so harmlessly and warmly inside his heart because Louis broke that heart.

He wishes Harry had stopped loving him. It would be awkward, you know, to tell him once again that he's straight and has no interest in men.

_Because Louis is straight, or he’s supposed to be._

If he's staring at Harry's lip as a hungry man stares at a plate of food, it doesn't mean anything. Harry's lips have always been attractive and Louis always liked to stare at attractive things.

“So, do you like it overall?” Harry breaks his monologue to bring Louis back to earth.

Louis doesn’t need to hear the song to know it’s going to be good, but he asks Harry to sing it again because he doesn’t want to fake.

"It’s honestly awesome,” he confesses and he’s being honest. Harry smiles. “Haz, this is going to be a great hit. Your melody and my lyrics… What a pair.”

“What a pair,” Harry repeats, nodding. “Hey, off topic. How did you become so… big in so little time?”

“Hard working,” Louis replies, honest. “I had no life for two years”

“Is that the reason why you never called? Were you busy?” Harry asks indifferently.

“Yes.”

 _Lies_. He's talking bullshit and Harry knows it. He bites his lower lip, shaking his head with disappointment.

“I know you're lying, Lou.”

 _Well, what if he is?_  They were very good at pretending it was just a friendship. They were good at it until they had to head off university and Harry confessed his love for Louis and Louis ran away.

Louis ran away because Harry could always hear his voice changing its color, finding a shade of red for every emotion of his. He ran away when his biggest fear started to become real and impossible to hide from someone like Harry.

“Shit, Haz, what do you want me to say?” He's whisper yelling and it sounds weird, but he can't help it. “That I hate not knowing about you, but I need to be away from you anyway?”

Harry doesn't even blink. “Yes. You didn't lie there.”

“You know this shit, Harry,” Louis says, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Harry’s worth so much, he's priceless. “I don't want to hurt you anymore.”

He wants Harry to acknowledge that they spooned last night. It feels like crap pretending they didn’t do it.

“I'm not worried about me,” Harry confesses, leaning on the table to get closer to him. Louis wishes he could run away and hide under his bed. It’s scary how much his emotions blend when Harry is with him. “I'm worried about you. I don't want your life to be wasted.”

“I'm straight.”

He speaks as if the comment had something to do with the thread of the conversation, which it doesn't.

He's trying to prove a point that doesn't really exist, he's trying to prove himself that he isn't dying to kiss Harry right there and fuck him into oblivion.

He wants to pretend he noticed the way the waitress has glanced at him. He wants to pretend he checked her ass (except he checked Harry's small bum instead,  _but well_ ).

“I'll pay the bill,” Harry says, sighing. He stands up and walks to the counter.

Louis is left there, so alone and scared of the feeling he’s holding inside. They fucking slept spooning last night, why is Harry acting as if they didn’t, why is he likes this?

He needs this boy more than anything in his life. He doesn't want his lies; Harry is the only thing that hasn't been a lie in his life. He’s better than all the fakeness he created for himself.

He stands up and goes to meet Harry, who's talking to the cashier girl. Louis wants to cry because Harry is so pretty, so breathtakingly beautiful and he has been so fucking patient with him. Harry notices, so he wraps an arm around Louis's waist and pulls him close.

He always notices; he’s always looking after Louis.

Louis wishes Harry would have been a girl because it would have made things so much easier. They would have been married at this point.

His thoughts are fucked up, Louis knows it. Harry's a boy and he can only function as a boy. Trying to find a ‘what if’ in everything is trying to change what Harry is and Louis doesn't want Harry to change, ever.

Louis doesn't put up resistance when Harry pulls him close, in a move that is more couple-like than friendly-like. He tries to stop caring for once, Harry feels too warm and safe to refuse his touch.

"Thanks for coming, guys! Enjoy your day!"

Louis doesn't say goodbye. Harry leads him to the car, where he crawls into the passenger seat without saying anything. Louis is standing on the edge of an emotional abyss, he knows it.

“Do you want to drive for a while, Lou?” Harry suggests, and Louis knows he's expecting a no as an answer. He decides to change that.

“Choose the destination, Harold.”

Night fell over them completely after hours of driving around. The moonlight illuminates the road while Harry drives, his eyes fixed on the road and the music out loud wrapping them both.

Louis is motionless in the passenger seat, wrapping his flexed legs with his arms. He isn’t sure if Harry feels his discomfort, he hopes not, but he’s pretty sure even his silence screams fear.

“Hey, Lou.”

Harry turns off the music and decides to break the silence between them. He slows down the car speed, but he keeps driving. Louis is glad; because he’s pretty sure he’s blushing.

“Tell me, Harold.”

“I had a great day today,” he says and Louis doesn’t miss the smile on his pretty lips. “Thank you for— You know… Letting me in.” He’s nervously stuttering. “Again.”

“As If I had a chance,” he says, teasing. “The boy who can’t be lied to. You know my real self, lad.”

“I quite like it a lot,” Harry says and his voice sounds smooth and shy. “Always have.”

Louis knows; he knows Harry’s love hasn’t faded away a bit. Two fucking years and Harry still loves him as ardently as the first day.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” Harry assures, glancing at Louis by the corner of his eyes. “It wouldn’t be fair if I did.”

Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes. He relaxes his position a little, letting his legs fall numb on the seat.

“Hey, pull over. Let’s count the stars in the sky, shall we?”

Harry turns at Louis, completely taken aback by his proposal. Louis calls him off, asking him to stay attentive to the road.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course, curly haired silly,” Louis mocks, nodding with the head. “I’m getting used to your presence. Again.”

Harry laughs. When he does, every muscle in his body tenses and then relaxes as soon as he bursts into a cascade of happy giggles, throwing his head back and crinkling his eyes like a kitten.

Louis stares at Harry in delight, unaware of the fact that he’s creeping staring. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, though.

He pulls over on road, parking somewhere where the trees aren’t blocking their view of a dark night sky. The black infinity above them is sprinkled with tiny little stars, shining with the power of something they are never going to understand.

Louis feels so, so tiny in front of that wideness. The infinity seems so close when he looks at the sky, yet it’s so far away. He wonders why humans struggle with things that don’t matter when there’s such a lovely unbounded world in front of them.

“You’re daydreaming,” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear.

Louis hadn’t noticed how close Harry had gotten. He’s sitting on the car hood, glued to his side. His voice sounds squashy when he talks, wrapping Louis from head to toes, making him shiver.

Harry’s voice is far more infinite than the universe.

“I’m night-dreaming, you mean.” He makes the lamest joke ever, yet Harry laughs with genuine grace. His loveliness is killing Louis.

All his lies had built a strong brick wall in his life; trapping him in a cave he thought was impenetrable. It feels so safe, so good when you make up your life as your leisure. Louis is the God of his own destiny.

Except when Harry is right there.

“You’re really pretty, Harry.”

The words slip his mouth without thinking. Harry stops giggling, eyes changing their color. They turn darker, circumspect. He’s hopeful but scared at the same time, face shining with a spark brighter than the stars.

He licks his lower lip and his eyes drop to Louis’ lips for a brief moment.

Louis isn’t stupid, he knows what this means.

“You’re pretty too,” Harry whispers, his voice failing to stay steady. His voice changes so fast depending on the circumstance, getting deeper and slower when they’re being intimate. “Way too pretty. I love when your voice does this thing… It turns red lust. Always has.”

Louis is leaning into him. Slowly, one step at a time while his gaze holds Harry’s. The inches separating their mouths feel like an abyss, yet neither of them is ready to jump.

“What If this hadn’t happened? What if my voice haven’t changed its color?” Louis manages to ask. His mind is blurry; Harry doesn’t let him think straight.

His charm dizzies Louis at a level where words and feelings are mixed in a strange mélange that feels pretty much like freedom.

“We wouldn’t be here,” Harry replies with total honesty. “I wouldn’t have figured you were…” He doesn’t continue, that angel of a boy. He’s even careful when he speaks about Louis’ sexuality. “Amazing. Every piece of you is amazing. You’re even better than the stars.”

“Cheesy,” Louis mutters, yet he doesn’t stop Harry from saying those sappy things. He was never complimented in his relationships, he thought being the one dropping compliments was something really manly to do, so he barely accepted compliments.

“You love it.”

Who’s Louis to deny such an obvious fact? As if he could, anyway.

“Yeah,” he nods. He closes his eyes in a shift motion. He can feel Harry’s breathing against his skin, his soft hand reaching for his cheeks and caressing them. “Yeah, I love it.”

“Can I kiss you?”

The word ' _kiss_ ' leaves Harry’s mouth and gets inside Louis’s mind to make him self-conscious.

That’s when he realizes he’s separated from Harry by a little space and he’s about to be kissed. He realizes he has only been in this situation once, two years ago; threatened by the same person, lost in the feelings he didn’t want to feel but felt anyway.

He’s about to lose the safety of his lies.

“I can’t.”

Louis speaks with a broken voice, suddenly leaning back. He stands up and hugs himself with his arms, stepping away from Harry. He turns back to Harry and closes his eyes, trying to erase the sensations Harry caused.

He’s not gay, and if he is, he’s not ready to face it. Not yet.

“I can’t, I’m so sorry, Harry.”

He wants to cry. He suddenly needs someone to hold him, because being alone could be great when you’re broken, yet Louis isn’t sure he can sustain himself this time.

He needs someone to sustain him.

“Louis, please don’t be upset.”

Harry is behind Louis and he’s respectful enough to remain a few inches apart. He doesn’t touch or force Louis to face him.

“You don’t understand,” Louis sobs, turning around to look at this boy that has been messing up his life. He can’t lie to him so what’s the point of being silent? “I did this to you. Again. Harry, I’m so fucking messed up.” He angrily wipes the tears he doesn’t want to have. “Shit, Harry, I want to fucking kiss you. Right there?” Louis asks, stepping forward and pointing at the car. “I could have kissed the shit out of you. But I can’t. I can’t because it doesn’t fit this crazy fake life I build up for my mom, for my father. It doesn’t fit my…”

“Straight persona,” Harry finishes for him, almost guessing Louis’ last words.

Louis shudders when Harry speaks, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. Yes, he’s afraid as hell to let his straight mascara break down.

“Come here, Lou. I won’t kiss you, okay? Let’s get into the car.”

Louis follows Harry to the car, who opens the door to the back seat and let him enter before getting in himself. It’s warmer inside the car and Louis curls up in the corner, making his body the smallest ball.

“I promised I wasn’t going to ask about your sexuality because I know it’s a delicate subject for you, Lou.” Harry speaks too slow, taking his time to pick up the right words to be soft and honest with Louis.

Louis thanks him internally for being so patient and understanding with him.

“I wish I could talk,” Louis sighs, defeated. “I can’t even... Say it out loud to myself. I have been living in a lie and it’s not easy to get out.”

“I understand,” Harry nods. He glances at Louis’ hand, the one that’s resting close to him. Louis knows he wants to hold it, yet he doesn’t. “Why are you so scared of being who you are, Lou?”

“I… Don’t know. Still don’t know. I guess— I have to prove my mom that my… Troy was wrong about me.”

Harry nods and he doesn’t push. They remain in a long silence for a while, a silence that Louis wishes he could fill with promises of eternal love and endless kisses.

“I’m so sorry, pretty,” Louis apologizes.

There are no words enough to express how sorry he is. Not just for Harry but for himself, because he’s dying to be kissed, he craves Harry with every inch of his body. Kissing Harry would mean to stop his lies, to stop living in a world of fantasy where he’s straight and everything works right. “I’m so sorry that I’m constantly breaking you. I— I don’t fucking deserve you. You shouldn’t be here.”

He wonders why he hates himself so much. When did he become so disgusted of what he was and why?

“Don’t say that,” Harry says, kissing Louis’ temple. Louis wonders why Harry is so gentle with him; he knows the answer, but he feels so unworthy of it. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I understand, always will because the Louis I fell in love with is this insecure, lovely and real Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry talks so openly about his love for him that it scares Louis. Nobody is so comfortable talking about someone who broke them; such a strong bond couldn't be real.

“I… Just—” Louis sighs loudly, surrounded by his feelings. He lolls his head to one side, casually leaning into Harry to rest his head against his shoulder.

Harry receives him openly, stretching an arm and wrapping him with it. He pulls him closer and Louis lets him lead the motions. Harry is warm, but most of all,  _Harry means safety._

A real safety, a safety that isn’t based on words. Unlike his lies, Harry’s safety is there to stay.

“Cuddle me, Haz,” he pleads in a weak voice. “Would you?”

Harry says nothing at all, speaking with his silence. His big hands travel by Louis’s body; his gentleness gives Louis a sense of safety he really likes to feel.

Harry's hands land on his hips and he guides Louis by the seat until he’s sitting on his lap.

Louis gasps brokenly when his tiny body crawls into Harry, burying his face on his chest, holding back the desperate tears he’s needing to cry.

He feels the way Harry’s fingertips stroke his back and finally wraps him in a hug that means more than just the world for Louis.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Harry,” Louis confesses, trying to be as close to Harry as he can. He pretends the world around them doesn’t exist, there’s just him and Harry in the car and nothing else. “I’m so glad you came back. I’m so glad my voice is multicolored.”

“I’m glad I can hear it changing,” Harry replies and kisses his forehead.

Louis ignores how much he wants to kiss Harry. His lies are still strong on him, yet they aren’t as strong as always. Harry is breaking down his walls.

He knows he could have kissed Harry and then covered it up with lies, but he doesn’t want to do it.

He chooses to cry himself to sleep. At the end of the day, he’s wrapped in Harry’s arms and nothing bad can happen to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things in this story are going to change ;) I love you all, thanks for reading this story, your support means the world! Don't forget to leave comments/kudos. Basically, I'd love to talk to you. Much love xx
> 
> Song for this chapter:[ Portal - LIGHTS ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRedqQIEsh4)


	8. Rusted Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis’ words flare up inside Harry, turning on his wildest insist, wanting, aching, needing him more than anything. It’s so intense, the shade of lusty red blinds him for a second, sending chills down Harry’s spine and making his cock twitch inside his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was longer than this so I split it in two parts. I'll upload chapter 9 as soon as I finish checking it :)

“Harry, do you know why Louis wrote this song? I can’t find his usual cheekiness, it's... Odd.”

As he notices that Liam is talking to him, Harry takes off his earphones and turns to his work partner, who's staring at the words written by Louis in a crappy piece of paper. _  
_

“I don’t know,” he answers, shrugging. “He didn’t talk to me about it. Maybe he wanted to change his music style.”

“Harry, he wrote a fucking allegory of freedom and being free,” Liam insists, arching his eyebrows.

“It’s just that, Liam,” Harry growls, rolling his eyes. “A metaphor, and allegory. It’s nothing.”

Honestly, it means nothing. Louis could write a thousand songs about being free, it doesn't change anything.

 _Louis is deliberately ignoring Harry (of course)_. If it wasn't for the boundless love he feels for that boy, Harry would have punched him on the face.  _And then he would have kissed him._

Kiss him hard, to show the world that Louis belongs to him, despite gender, sexual orientation and, most of all, despite those words that hurt Louis the most.

But he has to be realistic, he can't go straight to Louis and snog the shit out of him; so it's good for Harry to have something to do in order to avoid overthinking.

Working late, too many meetings, suddenly he had loads of dinner and lunch dates… Harry isn’t fooled, he knows Louis is evading him.

Pushing doesn’t really work with the boy, so… 

Luckily for Harry, the studio is a pleasant colored atmosphere where he can play with the tunes and harmonies to fit them with the lyrics, while Liam helps him with old Foxes songs to never lose sight of her music style.

“Metaphors.” Liam takes a deep breath in frustration.

“You should ask him,” Harry whispers as he watches Louis walk through the door.

 _I touched you. I touched you in ways that weren’t friendly at all_ , Harry thinks, eyes glued to the small boy who’s walking towards them. 

Louis doesn’t seem to remember.

_I almost kissed you._

Louis doesn’t seem to mind.

“Hey, Louis!” Liam catches his attention with a yell. “We were talking about your song!”

“Hi, lad.” Louis replies, avoiding Harry’s gaze with extreme meticulousness. “Yeah? Hope you liked it.”

Louis sounds red brick, strong and impenetrable like a brick wall. Harry stares at him, watching the way Louis tries to avoid his eyes, he tries to pretend Harry isn’t even there.

 _You cried in my arms. I cuddled you. I love you_ , Harry thinks.

“It’s not your usual style. I mean, you barely said anything sexual,” Liam says, half teasing.

“Well, thanks, Liam,” Louis replies, grinning. "I can write serious songs, too."

Then Harry gets brave enough to take the word; he seeks eye contact, he wants to see into those glistening and infinite blue eyes that make him fall in love every day a little more.

“Hello, Louis.”

 _I love you_ , Harry thinks. When Louis looks up to him, finally looking into his eyes, Harry swears those eyes are screaming _I love you too, forgive me._

“Hey, Haz. I— hum, I have to go,” he whispers and then he heads to the main desk where Daniela is probably waiting for him. Harry could tell he’s exhausted by the red shade of his voice.

Harry watches Louis walking away by the corner of his eyes and he hates it. He hates the nasty indifference Louis is showing. He wants to scream a little, too.

He isn't going to pretend he's not scared because Harry is so fucking scared, scared of never being enough, scared that all his lies are always going to be the most powerful thing in Louis.

It feels so bad to see him caught up in his own lies and hearing his ever-changing shades of red doesn't make it any better.

“What’s the deal with Louis and Daniela?” Liam asks.

Harry sighs, running his hand by his greasy hair as Liam watches him with an attentive gaze.

“I don’t know,” he replies, slightly pissed. “You should ask them.”

“Louis doesn’t want to talk about that. I thought, maybe, as you’re his friend…”

“He never speaks about his relationships,” he explains, trying to act as if he wasn’t drowning in his jealousy.

Maybe the bitterness is clear in his voice, or maybe he’s too damn readable, or maybe Liam is sensitive, as he says, “I tried to stop them,” He’s nice, Harry thinks, his voice is a nice colored voice. “But Louis can be stubborn as fuck.”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry says, honest, collapsing in his chair. “I mean, Louis is free to do whatever he wants.”

Except being free, ironically.

“He’s making a big mistake there,” Liam admits, biting his lower lip. “He’s only fucking around with Daniela, but it’s obvious he doesn’t love her.”

“Maybe it isn’t about love,” Harry speaks brokenly, tasting the bitter flavor in his mouth. He hates to think Daniela is the lucky one that gets to kiss and touch Louis in ways Harry would kill to do. He craves Louis, he would give everything he has to take Louis and make him his just for one night.

“Of course it’s not about love.” Liam snorts, rolling his eyes.

Harry doesn’t answer because he doesn’t really have anything to say. It hurts like hell; he was so close to having Louis, to kiss him. He only wants to give him the love he deserves; but the one who wins is Daniela.

“Harry,” Liam calls and when Harry looks up at him, he finds the man staring with worry printed on his face. He rests a friendly hand on his shoulder and when he speaks, he does it in a very slow voice. “Do you like Louis?”

Harry considers replying with a lie, but he has had enough lies for a lifetime, honestly.

“It’s worse than that,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I'm in love with him.”

Liam nods with the head, patting Harry on the back. The situation sucks, Liam can’t do anything to make it better and Harry knows it, but it still sucks.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok,” Harry says. “I have learned to live with this, anyway.”

How lame he sounds, honestly.

The stupid laugh of Daniela breaks the calmness in the studio and an urgent hurry to slap her on the face grows inside Harry’s chest. He really needs to stop thinking about Louis because he’s just losing himself in the process and he doesn’t see a near end.

“I’m done here,” Harry announces, standing up.

“Wait, Haz. I want you to meet Nick before you go.”

“Who’s Nick?”

“Liam, Harry.” The voice of Louis interrupts the conversation.

Harry locks eyes with Louis, challenging, and the older boy reaches for Daniela’s hand to hold in an attempt to fight against the thousands of feelings that are mixing inside his heart.

Louis doesn't look down and neither does Harry, speaking through the eyes. 

“We have to go, do you need anything else?” Louis asks, finally breaking the silence. His voice shakes a little, he's trying to act composed, but he can't fool Harry.

His colors expose him.

“No,” Harry answers, emphatic.

“Okay,” Louis nods, hesitant. His voice trembles at the end, reaching a pale shade of red.

“Nice dress, Daniela,” Harry compliments her, only to piss Louis off. “Are you going out?”

Louis finds something really interesting in his shoes to stare at, as Daniela smiles widely at Harry, oblivious of the tension between the two boys. “Yes, actually….”

She is about to say something when a third voice fills the air. Harry hasn’t heard this voice, has he? No, he would have remembered it because it’s manly, confident and strong. It’s a voice that has an intense shade of French blue that could be described as the color of the sky on a clear summer's day.

It’s nothing like Louis’ voice,  _but he doesn’t have Louis_ , so.

“My men are reunited!”

When Harry turns to the speaker, he finds an attractive old man wearing a fancy suit and his hair perfectly styled in a quiff. His eyes are dark as the deepest night and he’s taller than Harry, which makes him cringe.

“Nick, finally.”

Okay, Liam knows this man. Harry feels pretty awkward standing there, suddenly too self-conscious of his own body. This doesn’t happen a lot. He needs to use this.

“Harry, let me introduce you to Nick Grimshaw,” Liam presents the man, who smiles handsomely and extends a hand for Harry to hold. “He works for the BBC radio, he always plays our songs. He’s really supportive of our label, we owe him a lot.”

“Shut up, Liam. Your music is good, I have all my hopes in this record label.”

“Thanks, mate,” Liam says, pleased. “He’s Harry Styles, the new kid.”

“My work partner, actually,” Louis quickly adds, interrupting the short chat.

Harry rises his eyebrows as he hears Louis talking. His voice sounds rust, a weird mix between red and brown, the color of the iron oxide, the color of jealousy. Harry won’t use this to his own profit, absolutely not.

Or maybe yes.

Louis is trying to mark him as his, and Harry loves it. He turns his back to him, facing Nick, who’s already staring at Harry.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Nick says nonchalantly and none of them misses the way he checks Harry out. “Look at that pretty face, quite a charmer you are, hum?”

Louis scoffs, annoyed by Nick's flirty attitude. Harry ignores him, loving the sound of his jealousy.

“Thank you,” Harry thanks and he can almost feel the anger radiating from Louis’ pores.

“I listened to the preview of your song,” Nick explains, leaning into Harry, demanding proximity. Harry sees by the corner of his eyes how Louis tightens the grip on Daniela’s hand and he hates it. He smiles at the man as he moves closer to him. “I like it. Polish it a little and it will be the next big hit.”

“It’s not finished, yet,” Harry explains and he will probably regret what he’s doing, but— He needs to flirt back. He needs to know if Louis cares. “It sounds a little gray, we want to bring it to fluorescent tones.”

Nick makes a lusty chortle, a sly smile plastered on his handsome face. Louis growls behind Harry and Harry loves it, the color of the oxide so strong in his sounds. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but as long as it can bring up Louis’ possessive behavior, he quite likes it. A lot.

“He’s a synesthete, Nick, that’s why he describes music like that,” Liam explains. His eyes are fixed on Louis, and Harry swears he’s aware of his jealousy, too.

“Liam.” Louis is fuming, the red oxide of his voice so high. “Harry doesn’t like to make his synesthesia known, remember?” Louis warns him, his voice raising its color shade. Harry is dying to turn to him, yet he prefers to keep his eyes on Nick, flirting.

Nick smiles at him, winking, and he has this look on his eyes that seem to devour Harry, making him feel naked.

“Oh, shut up, Louis, he’s part of this record label, too,” Liam mutters, irritated. “Are you mad, Harry?”

“I don’t see why he should be quiet about it.” Nick takes the word, walking towards Harry to rest a hand on his shoulder. His touch burns, but Louis’ eyes burn even more. Harry can’t see him, yet he can sense Louis bursting out with jealousy.  “It’s an amazing disorder, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Harry agrees, nodding with the head. “Thank you for the compliment, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir, call me Nick, please,” Nick asks, winking at him again. He’s old and apparently the years have mastered his flirty skills because Harry is embarrassed, vulnerable and…  _Okay_. “Let’s have dinner and you can tell me all about your synesthesia, shall we?”

“I’m sorry, Nick, but Harry has work to do.”

Louis’ words flare up inside Harry, turning on his wildest insist, wanting, aching, needing him more than anything. It’s so intense, the shade of lusty red blinds him for a second, sending chills down Harry’s spine and making his cock twitch inside his pants.

Okay, this  _isn’t_  the proper time to be turned on.

Suddenly, Harry wants Louis to feel the throbbing pain of knowing he doesn’t have what he needs the most. Nick is kind of fine, honestly, so if he’s going to have to hang out with someone to make Louis realize how much it hurts to be without him, it better be him.

“Oh, please, it’s Friday night!” Nick laughs softly as Harry stares, the elegant aura this man has intrigued him. “Let him have fun, Louis. Besides,” he smirks in complicity. “I see you’re in good company tonight, hum?”

It does it for Harry; he turns around to look at Louis, whose face is cherry red and he's biting his lower lip so hard that he might hurt it. Harry loves the sight, loves to feel the stinginess on Louis.

His body asks him to grab Louis by his tempting hips, rip his clothes and take him right there, but his mind stops him.

He needs to be careful, play the right card. Being unscrupulous isn’t Harry, but he’s hurt and aching and he needs Louis more than oxygen.

“Yes, Lou. Let me have fun.”

Harry knows Louis is hating him right now and he loves the thought because the hate means love. Louis cares. It’s probably twisted and fucked up, but he can sense the feeling is mutual.

“Have fun then, Harry,” Louis snaps crudely before turning around and pulling from Daniela to walk away.

“Well, someone is a little moody,” Nick notices, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Let’s go, Harry, let me drive you to some fancy restaurant. What about you, Liam?”

“I have a lovely girlfriend waiting for me at home,” Liam replies kindly. “Honestly, I think I’m the only sane mind in this game.”

“Probably,” Harry whispers, agreeing.

Liam chortles, approaching to Harry and speaking in a short voice, “H, I know it’s hard, but… Just try, ok?”

Harry follows Nick to the garage as the man talks about some indie music group no one but him knows. It feels weird and Harry tries to be extra careful in every move he makes, but Nick smooths things over building a small conversation with him.

Now that Louis is gone, Harry doesn’t find Nick as interesting as he thought he would be. Yes, he’s handsome, nice and probably very rich; but he doesn’t speak in red, or he isn’t short and his eyes don’t get crinkles when he smiles.

But then again he thinks about Daniela and how she’s probably kissing  _his_  Louis and touching him when Harry is supposed to be the one sucking him off, and he finds a new interest in Nick.

“What are you going to order, Harry?”

“Whatever you like will make it for me,” Harry replies politely, his eyes running by the people in the restaurant.

They’re posh and nice, the wine he’s drinking probably cost more than the clothes Harry is wearing. They’re sitting in a lovely table with a view to the sea and it’s a nice city, Harry thinks.

“I like this place.”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites. What are you doing in Liverpool, Harry?”

I came back to claim what’s mine, he thinks, but he isn’t supposed to say that, considering he’s on a date. “Hum, vacations. Louis and I are old friends so I’m staying with him. He offered me a job so I’m helping him with the music. I was supposed to come back to London today, but...”

“You like the work too much.”

Kind of, Harry replies in his mind. Yet his lips speak a different thing, “Yes, I do. It’s nice to work in a record label.”

“It is,” Nick nods, smiling at him. He takes his glass of wine, drinking a large swallow, Harry stares at his Adam’s apple as it moves. “Let me ask you a question that can be a little intrusive, Harry. You don’t need to answer though.” God, Harry knows what’s coming. “Are you into guys?”

“Hum… Yes.”

“Are you single?”

Harry swears his cheeks turn crimson as soon as Nick makes the question. Now there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s trying to get into Harry’s pants and as much as he loves the idea of getting laid, he doesn’t like fucking random people. He likes intimacy and sex with feelings, as corny as it sounds.

“Yes, I’m single,” he nods as he nervously plays with his fork. It feels weird saying it because even though he’s, in fact, single, he feels so committed to Louis that single doesn’t fit his situation. “I didn’t know… That you were into guys, too.”

Nick chuckles sympathetically at his words. “I am. Girls didn’t work out for me. Pretty guys like you… That’s what I want.”

Harry doesn’t want this. The air has shifted into a thick atmosphere and the sounds of the night have turned darker; he feels trapped in an alley. He acceded to come to this date and now he has to face the consequences. He struggles to find the politest way to turn him down, but Nick is quicker.

“Do you want to come to my penthouse after dinner?”

“Ermm…” Harry’s senses are suddenly too conscious of the music and the rustling around him. He shuts his eyes for a second in order to control his anxiety, trying to erase the sight of the crowded bar. “Louis would worry.”

It’s the lamest excuse he could have made up and Nick laughs at it.

“Nah, Louis is a grown up, man. Let’s have fun tonight, Harry, I know you need it.”

The French blue of Nick voice drums inside Harry’s head, mixing with the dark buzzing that sends him to a third dimension where the colors are ugly, too saturated and dark.

“Harry, are you all right?”

Harry’s breathing heavily, his hands shaking. No, not now, not in this situation. He rather fuck Nick that have an attack in the middle of a posh restaurant with fancy people and nice guys. It’s fucking embarrassing.

“I’m fine,” he speaks with a weak voice.

He’s not fine. He feels the tingling on his fingers and the oppression inside his chest, and he knows his sensory overload is starting to explode.

“Please, Nick, take me home,” he says in a voice that’s barely audible. “Please.”

The bar is nice, the music is loud, and the feelings are high. And, sometimes, it all becomes too much. Everything becomes too much.

 

 

 

 _He has no chances._ It's necessary, Nick must have zero chances with Harry,  _his_  boy. 

Louis doesn't stop thinking about it as he drives Daniela to a crowded bar.

Harry can't let Nick touch him.

Ok, yes, maybe Louis _is a dick_ because he's being all possessive and jealous when he started ignoring Harry in the first place.

But who can blame him? He doesn’t know why he’s so submissive to Harry, why he turns into a vulnerable, scared little boy who’s aching to kiss and be kissed. He can’t be that man.

He hid in the studio, he tried to read, but it wasn’t not enough. He tried to do everything in his power to forget about the way Harry’s hand felt on his body, how safe and happy he felt wrapped with him.

He finally went for his last weapon and invited Daniela to a shitty bar and have a proper excuse to drown himself in alcohol. She seems pretty ready to jump on him and suck his dick whenever he wants, so it’s the perfect choice for Louis.

They haven’t even arrived at the bar and Louis knows the night will be boring and dull. Daniela smiles without dimples, her eyes are gray, her hair straight. He wonders how Harry would hear her voice. Probably gray because she’s the most boring person in the world.

She’s trying, but Louis can’t get the image of Harry and Nick out of his mind. Nick is powerful, rich and experienced; he’s also out and free, while Louis is a closeted fucking idiot who doesn’t even have the guts to kiss Harry.

What if Harry and Nick end up fucking? What if that old man gets lucky and can have the vision of a wrecked Harry pounding onto him as he moans loudly with his pretty filthy mouth?

No, _Louis doesn’t want that_. He wants to be taken by Harry, he wants to be the only one who gets to touch him, and he wants to be the name Harry screams when he comes. Louis feels his crotch tightening at the thought and—  _fuck_.

_He’s so gone for this boy._

“So, love,” Louis says when they sit at the bar, surrounded by the loud music and the free spirit of a Friday night. “Tell me about you.”

“I don’t know what you want to know,” Daniela says.

Louis wants her to talk about anything, he needs a distraction to stop thinking about Harry and Nick. 

He needs alcohol. Whatever the barman gives him will be fine because he needs alcohol to think about this, to accept the fact that Harry is with Nick and not with _him._

“A beer, please,” Daniela orders and Louis follows her.

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

“Okay,” Daniela nods, cheerless. “Do you want to be a big record label?”

“Of course I want,” Louis answers as if was obvious. “Trust me, we’re going to be one, someday. Which is your favorite song?”

“I don’t know, I don’t have a specific one,” she replies. Louis watches her think, the way she furrows and purses her lips, and maybe she could be considered pretty, but she’s not Harry. “I like the song you’re producing for Foxes, by the way.”

“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “Did you listen to it?”

“Some parts. Liam was checking the tunes and I really liked it.”

“Thanks, babe,” he says, proud of the work he and Harry are doing.

 _Things are so complicated_. Louis hates the feeling, hates how shitty he’s behaving at the moment, but he can’t bring himself to change that

“I need to get drunk,” Louis mutters under his breath, glancing at the barman who gave them the beers.

Daniela isn’t paying attention to him anymore, lost in her phone. Louis is glad because the ache in the top of his stomach won’t go away and she doesn’t make it any better.

It’s all his fault, his fucking fault for being so _weak_. He doesn’t blame Harry, he never will, but he wishes he could be right there with him being the one who kisses him and touches him. The thought makes him feel an irrational hate towards Nick.

“This kid… Harry,” she starts asking, finally dropping her phone. Louis’ stomach twists at the mention of Harry, guessing what’s about to come. “Do you remember what happened when we were trying to have sex the other day?”

Louis swallows the lump in his throat and pretends he doesn’t.

“Not really.”

“We were fighting and you told me to stop,” Daniela reminds him as if was necessary. “You called me Harry.”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” Louis admits, acting as if it was just a minor thing when both of them know it isn’t just minor. “I was angry at him. Sorry for that, love.”

Daniela smiles timidly and the barman saves Louis’ ass when he comes with the drinks. 

“I didn’t tell you how beautiful you look today, babe.” Louis speaks the compliment nonchalantly, and despite the big smile that cracks Daniela’s face, it doesn’t feel good saying it.

It’s different with Harry. He doesn’t need to flirt, everything flows naturally with him. If he compliments the younger boy, if he kisses his head or hold his hand it isn’t because he’s trying to get into his pants or something; it is because that’s the way it should be. He’s so used to be nice and caring with Harry that flirting with someone else feels forced and totally odd.

Harry can’t be with Nick, he’s supposed to be with him. _Why does it hurt so fucking much?_

“Do you know why Liam isn’t fond of us? I don’t think he likes when we’re together,” Daniela says after swallowing, trying to build a conversation.

“Liam still thinks you can’t mix work with pleasure.”

“Oh, it’s that,” she giggles, covering her mouth with her hand.

All of a sudden, the conversation is done and over. Louis wants to fill the gap between them, but he can’t come with any smart thing to say. They drink in silence, short comments about the people and the bar are said between swallows, but nothing else and nothing more.

 _There it goes again_ , the awful ache inside Louis' gut, that feeling of being separated from Harry, _his boy_. Nick is boring, Nick is dull, Nick doesn’t deserve Harry (neither Louis does, a little voice says inside his head).

When they ask for their third round of drinks, it’s time for Daniela to speak.

“Louis, someone has been calling you like crazy,” she says, glancing at the phone that Louis silenced, placed beside him.

“Yeah, it’s Fizzy,” Louis growls, glancing at the caller ID on the phone screen. “My little sister.”

“Shouldn’t you answer?”

“She’s probably being noisy,” Louis sighs, but he picks up anyway to evade another moment of awkward silence. “Fiz, what’s up?”

“Louis, thanks of God!” Fizzy sighs in relief.

“Fizzy, I’m on a date.”

“This is urgent!”

“Is everything right?” he asks, concerned. Its Daniela’s turn to frown.

“No, of course, no! That old man with the expensive car who works at the radio… He brought Harry home because he’s— I don’t know, he’s having something like a panic attack?” Louis can hear Jay yelling something in the background, yet his mind doesn’t catch her words, as it’s stuck with Fizzy’s last ones.

_Harry is having a panic attack._

“I don’t know why it happened, he was crying and Nick tried to comfort him,” Fizzy explains, and even when she sounds pretty calm, Louis knows it concerns her more than she shows.

Nick  _can’t_  comfort Harry. That’s Louis’ job.

“I— Shit, I had my phone silenced,” Louis speaks with the worry obvious on his voice. No, it wasn’t a panic attack. Fuck, Harry was with Nick and God only knows what the fucker did to him. Harry is extremely sensitive when it comes to love and people. “His sensory overload.”

“His what?”

“Put him on the line.”

“Louis, I don’t think…”

“Put him on the fucking line!” he yells, unaware that he’s actually screaming, thus half of the bar turns to look at him. Daniela sinks into her seat and apologizes with a weak voice. Louis rolls his eyes, sighing in frustration, and excuses himself to the bathroom.

“Lou?”

God,  _his Harry_ , his boy. He’s hurting, Louis knows it, and it’s his damn fucking fault.

“Haz, baby. I’m here. What happened, kitten?”

“I—  I d-o-on’t kno-ow,” Harry stutters and it’s crystal clear that he 's crying.

Nick’s voice must have an ugly tone, Louis thinks. He's willing to find the man whenever he's hiding and beat him until there's no skin left to beat.

“Nick wasn’t nice? What did he do to you? Tell me, I will kick his fucking ass and…”

“Lou, no,” Harry interrupts him, suffocating a sob. “He-e di-din’t touch me.”

“But he wasn’t nice, wasn’t he?” Louis is probably a dick for bringing up his jealousy at this moment, but who cares.

“No. He’s ni-nice. But y-you…”

“You like my red better,” Louis finishes for Harry, and it’s ridiculous how pleased he is with that simple fact. “That’s okay, pretty, I’m here now. Do you hear my voice?”

“Yes.”

Harry,  _Harry is so colorful_.

Harry doesn’t fucking deserve the shit Louis gives to him. He’s beautiful as a person and the world treats him so badly without reason.

“Do you hear my red?”

“Yes.”

Louis’s heart shrinks when he hears how weak and defenseless Harry sounds. He needs to be there for him so badly, apologizing for being an annoying and fragile ass that can’t get himself to face the fact that he likes men, regardless of his father’s judgments.

“I’m coming home, ok? You can go to my bed, wear one of my sweaters. I know you like them, kitten. I know you like to smell like me, because I like to smell like you, too.”

Harry giggles between sobs and Louis relaxes a little, knowing that the worst has passed already.

“You, y-ou don’t h-a-ave to, Lou,” Harry hiccups, shyly. “You can stay with her.”

“Bullshit. I’m coming home, Harry.”

With that, he hangs up. When he turns around, he finds a man staring at him with aversion. He has been probably overhearing his conversation, knowing what Louis is. Feeling the guilt in his guts, Louis walks out of the bathroom with his head up, trying to ignore the voice inside his head that tells him how worthless he is.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?” Daniela asks, surprised and a little hurt to be abandoned right there. Louis is honestly sorry, but nothing is more important than his boy.

“Harry needs me,” he says, taking money to pay the bill. “I’m sorry this night had to end like this.”

Daniela watches him with attentive eyes, silent. “Yeah. Me too.”

When Louis heads back home, he realizes he has spent more than half of the ‘date’ thinking about Harry. He can’t help it, though, he’s like an addiction, the constant thing shattering Louis’ mind.

Louis drives as fast as his car lets him, ignoring some red lights. The house is sunk in the deepest silence when he arrives. There are no signs of his family or Harry; but all the lights are turned on and it still smells like dinner.

“Louis?”

His mother’s soft voice fills the air, sending shivers down his spine. He turns around and finds Jay stepping into the room, her hair tied in a bun.

“Mum. Where’s Harry?”

He doesn’t want any minute to ask because Harry is the only thing he really cares about.

“In your room, he’s probably asleep by now,” she answers calmly. “Thanks of God he was with Nick, he’s such a nice man.”

“Nick is not a nice man,” Louis corrects her, harsh. “He’s good with the guys he wants to fuck.”

 _And he will never put a hand on Harry while I’m alive_ , Louis promises mentally.

“Louis!”

“I’m being honest.”

“I’m so sorry that we had to interrupt your date, darling,” Jay cuts him. “I… Harry wanted us to call you,” she says, lowering her tone and getting closer to his son. Louis’ stomach feels heavy as a rock. “I know I’m not his mother, but… I was so worried for him.”

“I know, mum, it’s not a problem. You did the right thing.”

“Okay,” Jay nods, visibly concerned. “I didn’t know Harry suffers from it. Why? Does he have…?”

“Mum,” Louis cuts her, serious. It’s time for Jay to know the truth. They never talked about Harry’s synesthesia before because Harry wanted to keep it as secretive as he could, but Jay loves him too much to keep living in the ignorance. “Harry has synesthesia.”

Jay is a nurse, thus far Louis hasn’t had to explain to her what synesthesia is. She simply widens her eyes and her mouth falls open in complete shock.

“He hears in colors?”

“Yes,” Louis nods, talking slow and short to avoid waking up his sisters. “Colors flash upon his eyes as he hears. That’s why, sometimes, everything becomes too much and it leads to this state of sensory overload.”

Jay doesn’t reply right away, Louis knows she’s thinking. He stands in the middle of the room, feeling the guilt overcome his power to fight against it. It’s his fault that Harry had an attack. It’s his fault that Harry ends heartbroken over and over again, and it’s time for him to grow the fuck up and change.

He needs a change more than anything in his life. He needs to fight, he needs someone to scream at him that he’s losing and breaking the person that matters most for him.

“Oh God,” Jay finally whispers, concerned. “That’s why he’s so sensible, right?”

“Yes,” Louis confirms. His voice trembles as he speaks, swallowed up by the blame. “Yes, that’s the same reason his father treats him like shit.”

Jay nods, silent and concerned.

“Mum, please don’t make a big deal of this, okay?” Louis pleads, taking off his coat. “He’s extremely sensitive with the topic. He barely talks to me about it, we’re working on that. Fuck, why did I have to silence my phone tonight?”

“Dear, don’t blame yourself, you’re here now. Also, I would never say anything to hurt that boy, who do you think I am?” Jay asks, arching eyebrows. “I’ll talk to him because he needs it, but I’ll do it carefully. For now, Louis, please take care of him.”

“Of course I will,” Louis nods, glad that his mother loves Harry so much.

“Listen to me, darling,” she speaks again, serious. “I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to.” Louis starts sensing she wants to ask something precise. “Are you guys fine, Louis? Harry asked us to call you, but then he said he wanted to go away because you didn’t talk to him…”

“We're fine,” he lies, quite badly if he has to be honest. His mother doesn’t need to hear his voice; just by glancing at him he can sense he’s hiding something from her. “He’s helping me with the music, we’re working together and… I… Fuck, mum, I love him.”

It’s scary how true his statement is. No harm, no doubt in the middle, just plain love expressed by words that don't seem enough to describe his feelings.

It’s something beyond sexually. Since day one, it was more than Louis’s sexuality.

“He loves you too, dear. You two are absolutely best friends.”

 _I don’t want to be just his friend anymore_ , Louis wants to say.

“I’ll check on him now, mum. Thanks for calling me tonight.”

“You’re welcome, Louis,” she says, nodding. She kisses his cheeks, squeezing his arms while she does. “Good night, darling.”

Louis watches her leave to her room while his heart beats fast inside his chest. He stands frozen in the middle of the room, lost in his bitter desperation, knowing that it has to get darker before the sun rises.

For now, he only needs one simple thing: _to finally give himself to Harry._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a lot for reading!! The other day someone came to my tumblr asking how I imagined Louis and Liam's record label and I loved that question, so if you have a question, something you want to share or anything you want to talk to, [my tumblr is open](http://ijustgotowisharder.tumblr.com). Love you all, you mean the world for me.
> 
> Next chapter: Louis finally breaks down. There will be loads of kisses and gentle touches. Hang on there ;) x
> 
> Song for this chapter:[ Roman Holiday - Halsey ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=heMTVlawFmM)


	9. Lips Were Made To Kiss and Make Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now,” Harry speaks, and Louis wants to kiss him, but something inside him doesn’t let him. He’s tired of that something. He wants to be fucking free. “Ask nicely to me.”
> 
> “Please, Harry, kiss me,” Louis whispers. “Set me free of this hell.”

_Harry._

Harry, his beautiful boy. He's curled on Louis’ bed, wearing his briefs and hugging a pillow. Louis’s hearts melts at the view; sometimes he wonders how he manages to be so easily transformed into a little child.  
  
He doesn’t wake up when Louis opens the door; he has always been a kind of heavy sleeper. He takes off his shoes and changes into his bed old shirt, and closing the door before walking to the bed.  
  
He sits by his side, eyes fixed on the milky and soft skin of Harry. Little freckles are sprinkled here and there and his tattoos make a mess of his skin, a mess Louis has learned to love.  
  
Harry wrinkles his nose and turns around. He’s still asleep, but apparently Louis’ warmth has an effect on him, as he snuggles close to him and leaves the pillow halfway there to wrap his arms around Louis’s leg.  
  
He chuckles with fondness.  
  
“Haz,” he whispers in Harry’s ears, who only hums in response. “Haz, pretty, I’m back. Kitten, wake up.” He’s too tempted to kiss his lips, but he doesn’t like the idea of kissing his baby without his consent considering all the shit he has been doing to him.  
  
“Louis,” Harry mutters sleepily. His eyes flutter open, finding Louis in front of him and his arms wrapped around him. He drops him immediately, leaning back and curling into a smaller ball (if that’s possible). “What… I swear… I’m sorry, I..."  
  
“Haz, no, please, listen to me, okay?” Louis says, sitting up in the bed. It takes Harry a couple of seconds to be fully awakened; once he’s up, he sits up too. Louis expects him to snuggle at his side, but Harry doesn’t. Louis knows he provoked that distant treatment, really. “I… I want to apologize. For being so stupid with you, for not talking to you these past days. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you need me today.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Harry whispers, watching him with hopeful eyes. “You are here now.”  
  
“No, it’s not fine,” he denies, reaching a hand to caress Harry’s bare hips. “I… I want to help. Fuck, Harry, tonight you were with Nick and it felt so fucking bad. I couldn’t stop thinking about that and… I want to be there for you. Always. I…”  
  
“Lou, stop it,” Harry cuts him, his voice so soft that it makes Louis shudder. “It’s fine. I was a little mad and sad because you didn’t talk to me, that’s why I accepted to hang out with Nick. He wanted to hook up I guess and…” Louis hates the sounds of that, he hates to think his boy could have been touched by another man. Harry is _his_ , all his, as possessive as it sounds. “It all became too much. That’s all, not a big deal.”  
  
“It is a big deal, kitten,” Louis whispers quietly. “You’re the most important thing for me.”  
  
Harry’s lips bend on a shy smile, looking at Louis with those green eyes so truthful and adoring.  
  
“But you were with Daniela,” Harry snaps out of the blue.  
  
Louis gulps, tense. “I shouldn’t have,” he stutters, feeling a little itchy. “She’s nice, she’s cute, but she’s not…” Louis looks up at Harry to find him staring at him. He’s so gorgeous, every single piece of Harry is there to prove the world that perfection does exist. “She’s not you, Haz. You were with Nick and— Fuck,” he gasps, the temptation to seek his kisses fierce on him.  
  
Harry smirks a little. “You were jealous.”  
  
“Yeah.” Louis can’t lie to him, so. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have been so goddamn stupid. Ignoring you and going out with Daniela, what a fucking great plan,” he laughs bitterly.  
  
Harry doesn’t reply right away, thoughtful. He licks his rosy lips while his hand plays with his crucifix. Louis would have given everything to know at least a word of Harry’s thoughts, to know why he loves him so much.  
  
He’s too tempted to slide until he’s sitting on his lap, being held like a helpless baby, but he doesn’t do it.

It’s still not easy for him.

When he's with Harry in the privacy of their own little world, he's _vulnerable_. He doesn't let his guard down often, he likes to have control over every little detail, leaving no space for any vulnerability.

With Harry... with Harry he has nothing to control, he trust him. 

“I like your voice when you talk like that,” Harry finally mutters in a low voice. “It’s… Raspberry. It means you’re being honest. I like raspberry.”  
  
Louis wants to kiss him.  
  
“That means you forgive me?”  
  
“I’ll always forgive you, Lou,” he nods, smiling sadly. “But please, don’t— please don’t hurt me again. Yes? I know it’s difficult for you, but…”  
  
“Haz, no,” he mutters in a wrecked voice, fighting back the urge to cry. He hates himself so much for doing this to his boy. Harry doesn’t deserve any bad, he deserves someone better than Louis. “No, kitten, please don’t say that.” He reaches for Harry, needing to hug him. Their bodies move in perfect synchronization as they hug, melting into one of those tights and warm embraces nobody gave Louis except Harry.  
  
It’s meant to be and Louis has always known that.  
  
“I won’t hurt you again. Never. You mean so much for me.”  
  
“It’s not like I don’t want to help you,” Harry mutters, hiding his face on Louis’ shoulder. “But— it hurts, to think you’re with her. To think that she… Kissed you. I don’t want that. I never kissed Nick, if you want to know.”  
  
Louis doesn’t want to accept the relief he feels from hearing those words. It means Harry still wants him to be his, and he’s dying to be Harry’s. He has always belonged to him.  
  
“Better,” he murmurs quietly.  
  
They stand in silence for a long, long time. The only sound comes from the clock on Louis’s wall, the house sunken in a peaceful quietness. Harry’s warmth makes Louis feel content and at home.  
  
“Can we cuddle in bed?” Harry asks timidly. “I mean— if you don’t… Hum, if you don’t mind of course."  
  
“Of course we can, Harold dear.”

The bed is small for two people, yet they find the best way to tangle their bodies and make of them the smallest human ball.  
  
“You’re warm,” Harry whispers, nuzzling closer to Louis as he wraps them with a blanket. “Can you— spoon me?”  
  
Every time Louis thinks Harry can’t get any cuter, he proves him wrong. He has to remind himself once again that they don’t belong to each other yet, that he still has to _fight_ for this boy.  
  
He’s worth the risk, Louis thinks.  
  
“Come here, kitten,” Louis says, wrapping him from behind. He swears Harry purrs, so pleased to be spooned and cared and just— _loved_. “I can’t believe you’re bigger than me and you’re asking me to spoon you.”  
  
"I feel safe when you're hugging me."  
  
Louis wants to kiss him _(again)._  
  
“Lou,” Harry mutters after a long time, turning around to face him. He hides his face in the crook of Louis’ neck, his words send vibrations down Louis’ body, tickling him. “Can we talk about what happened the other day?”  
  
Louis lolls his head until it’s resting against Harry’s. It feels so right to be made a human ball together, so wrapped into each other that it’s ridiculous.  
  
“I think we need to,” Louis whispers, and he tightens his grip around his waist for reassurance. “I’m not sure if I want to, but we need to.”  
  
“I still want to kiss you,” Harry drops the comment straight forward, leaning back to face Louis. He’s absolutely gorgeous; his features illuminated by the moonlight passing through the curtains, making him look like an angel. “And I also want to make you understand that there’s nothing wrong with being…”  
  
Louis is thankful that Harry doesn’t finish his sentence. He looks down, thanking God that the one holding him is this boy who Louis trusts with his life already. It has been plain truth between them since the beginning and there’s nothing as valuable to Louis as that.  
  
“Gay.” The word surprised Louis himself. He clears his throat while changing his position against Harry. “I know I’m gay,” Louis stutters and it feels like crap saying it. He closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to stop Troy’s voice from coming. “I always was, even when I told— I told you that,” he tries to swallow, not succeeding. “Told you that thing.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Harry nods, and kisses him on the forehead, ignoring how nervous Louis feels about the previous events. “I’m glad you are. Otherwise, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure you’d stand a chance even if I was, in fact, straight, Harold,” Louis confesses, vomiting those words quickly and almost without space in between them. “You’re so— you know. I mean— charming.”  
  
He’s speaking like a scared child, so much silence between his words, cut sentences, only feelings spread messily by a mix of words.  
  
“Says the prince.”  
  
“It’s just— those voices,” Louis says, knowing that he has been wanting to talk about it since forever. “Troy’s voice. Our… Relationship. Harry, I really, really want to be with you, but…”  
  
“Lou, your family loves you. Troy is the only one who doesn’t. Think about your mum, your sisters, Mark,” Harry whispers while his fingers play with Louis’ hair. “I don’t understand why you don’t want them to know.”  
  
“I think they are not the problem,” he mutters, sighing. “Maybe… I don’t want to… I mean, maybe I’m the problem.”  
  
Harry smiles fondly at him, resting a finger beneath Louis’ chin and raising his head up until their lips are aligned in a perfect position to kiss. Only one thing is wrong and it’s the hurting distance between them.  
  
“That’s really good,” Harry whispers with a low voice. “Because if you’re the problem, then you’re also the solution.”  
  
They froze up, face to face, and Louis’ eyes drop to Harry’s lip. God, his lips are moistened, soft and reddish pink, blowjob lips, one of those Louis would give everything to kiss until he can’t breathe anymore.  
  
“Kiss me.”  
  
It's meant to be demand, but it sounds a lot like a plea. Louis doesn’t doubt, he isn’t suggesting, he’s pleading to be kissed. It’s out of the blue and unexpected, and although Harry wants to kiss him more than anything in the world, he doesn’t.  
  
“Louis,” he moans, but doesn’t close the distance. He reaches a hand to his lips, sliding his thumb by them.   
  
It’s all so damn slow and Louis doesn’t want it to stop, yet he wants it to end at the same time. He wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t want to. It’s so fucking confusing; everything is always confusing with Harry.  
  
“Are you nervous, Lou?” Harry asks, speaking so softly that he can barely be heard. Louis' eyes flutter shut, he opens his mouth slightly, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips.  
  
“Yes. Hell yes, I’m about to die.” He needs to be honest about this because he isn’t only anxious; he’s about to fucking die.  
  
He has reached a point where his heart can’t beat any faster, so it doesn’t beat any longer.  
  
“Please,” Louis stops him, gripping Harry’s shirt with one of his tiny hands. “I can’t— please.”  
  
Louis is the one making no sense. He doesn’t know what he is or what he pretends to be, because for the very first time in his life, the desire he has felt for Harry since the day they met has taken control over his body.  
  
“Shh,” Harry coos, and gets closer to Louis. He has his eyes closed, but he can feel the way Harry's breathing is wrapping him, sinking him in a sea of new emotions.  
  
“Harry,” Louis interrupts him, opening his eyes. He doesn't expect to find Harry so close, so when he does, a shiver runs down his spine. “I— What if…?”  
  
“I don’t need ‘what ifs’, Lou,” Harry replies and his voice is like cotton for Louis, soft and squishy. “I just need you. I needed ‘what if’ once and it only got me a broken heart.”  
  
Louis runs out of words to say, something that is really strange of him. The situation has put Harry in charge and is filling Louis with a weird pleasure of being under his dominance.  
  
He's trying to remember a situation where he was this nervous, this exposed to someone before, and he finds none. No party, no concert, nor boy, nor human being made him feel that way.  
  
“Now,” Harry speaks, and Louis wants to kiss him, but something inside him doesn’t let him. He’s tired of that something. He wants to be fucking free. “Ask nicely to me, Louis.”  
  
“Please, Harry, kiss me,” Louis whispers, and suddenly his voice sounds extremely low and husky. Louis didn't know his voice could be that low. “Set me free of this hell.”  
  
Louis wonders when Harry will close the distance and kiss him. His entire body is quivering like crazy, and the desperation to feel Harry is burning inside his belly, making him crave something more powerful than just a kiss.  
  
“I love you,” Harry whispers and Louis doesn't have much time to acknowledge the spoken words because Harry is already leaning into kissing him.  
  
Harry closes the distance between them, crashing their lips together with hunger and need. Louis feels his body quivering at the touch, all the emotions new in him. It’s just a brush of lips, an innocent kiss and slow touch of their lips; until Harry cups is hand on the back of Louis’s necks and tilts his head a little, nibbling his lower lip.  
  
Harry's mouth is warm and soft, firm against his mouth, teasing. Harry kisses like he talks: slowly, smooth, licking Louis's lip with the tip of his tongue but refusing to deepen the kiss just yet, wanting to enjoy the touch of their lips together.  
  
Louis gasps and opens his mouth, desperately trying to have Harry’s taste on his mouth. Their tongues intertwined, bodies are pressed against each other and time doesn’t exist for a minute, Louis’ mind is a wide black hole where the only existing thing is Harry.  
  
Louis ends up laying on the bed, following Harry’s silent orders, with the younger boy on top of him. Harry’s big hands hold his chin with dominance, refusing to break the kiss even to breath.  
  
They’re gasping and desperate to get as much as the other as he can, Louis knows he will never feel something as powerful as the feeling Harry gives him with a kiss.  
  
“Haz,” Louis moans between kisses, asking for more. Harry tilts his head, shoving his tongue inside Louis's mouth and sucking on it.  
  
They feed each other with their need, love, and a devotion that is growing faster and heavier than any other feeling. They tangle their bodies, wanting to be as closer, _tasting, kissing, and needing._  
  
Louis grips Harry's crucifix to keep him close without disconnecting his lips, so eager to kiss and be kissed and being manhandled by the handsome boy whose arms are wrapped around his waist.  
  
“Crimson,” Harry gasp, pulling Louis impossibly close. “When you’re pleading, your voice turns crimson.”  
  
“It does?” Louis asks with a husky voice, breaking the kiss. His mind is dizzy, his thoughts blurry. He had kissed a lot of people, but no one caused what Harry does to him.  
  
Harry’s eyes are glassed out and a little darker, his purity replaced by a strong fiery that sends pins and needles down Louis’ lower belly, ending on his crotch.  
  
“You’re so,” Harry whispers as he grabs Louis’ chin with his hand and slides his thumb by his reddish and chapped lips, “so beautiful. So mine.”  
  
“So yours,” Louis agrees, nodding as he closes his eyes. He’s expecting Harry to kiss him, but no lips press against his.  
  
“Look at me, Louis,” Harry orders and Louis obeys. He has never realized how much he likes to be bossed around when he’s being intimate with Harry. He’s so used to look after him, to stand up for him, and Harry is so vulnerable; yet right now everything has made an unpredicted shift. “Do you want me, beautiful?”  
  
“Yes,” Louis nods timidly as Harry leans down to put soft kisses all along his jaw line. “Yes, Harry, please.”  
  
“Good,” he whispers, eyes glistening. “Because there’s nothing I want more than you.”  
  
Louis makes a quiet moan as Harry joins their lips in a kiss that’s more possessive than gentle. The touch of Harry’s big hands against his body only increases Louis’ arousal; he flinches a little as the bulge in his pants is starting to ache. He can feel Harry’s lips bending on a smile, apparently he has noticed the effect he’s having on Louis.  
  
“You’re hard, baby,” Harry whispers as if he was talking about the weather.  
  
Louis has lost all his sanity right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the judgments, prohibitions, and fears because Harry is doing miracles with his mouth on Louis’ neck.  
  
“Harry.” He wants Harry to touch him, but he’s too embarrassed to ask. He hopes his needy moans make it up for it, and it does, for Harry always understands him.  
  
“Lou,” Harry murmurs, his mannish voice so husky that Louis finds it hard to breathe. “Can I touch you?”  
  
_Twink. Worthless twink._  
  
“I... Guess,” Louis gasps as he shifts closer to him. The bulge in his pants is exploding, he feels like he might cry if Harry doesn’t touch him.   
  
“You're mine,” he repeats, resting a finger beneath his chin and leaning into. Louis loves how it sounds, loves to be labeled as Harry's.  
  
Harry runs his fingertips down Louis' chest, slowing down as he approaches his lower belly. Louis gasps, biting his lower lip.  
  
He's scared, terrified to say the least, but he's also hard and aching and he has just kissed a man, and there's _Troy_ , and...  
  
“I can’t do this,” Louis breaks down, resting a hand against Harry’s chest, stopping him. He tries to hide it, but it’s clear he’s crying. “I can’t. I— want you so bad, but…”

"Lou."

"I can't," Louis sniffs, closing his eyes to stop the words he fears so much. "Haz. I'm not— i'm not so strong."

His chest feels as if his heart was ripped out of it, leaving him drowning in the vast territories of his self loathing. Then again, Harry is there, and the simplest kiss he puts on his forehead smoothes the sensation that are tearing him open.

_Harry is his anchor._

“Shh, it’s okay,” Harry coos, understanding, always so considerate with Louis in any circumstance. He rolls on bed until he's clutching the tiny boy against his chest, in the safety of his arms. “I’m here, beautiful. I love you.”  
  
The entire situation is so fucked up, it shouldn’t hurt this much. Yet there is Louis, caring for that man who’s so young yet so adult, a man who has something that makes Louis wants to give him everything he doesn’t have.  
  
Louis has nothing to offer and Harry has the world.  
  
He buries his face on the crook of Harry’s neck, taking a deep breath as he tries to think about anything except what was about to happen. Harry whispers sweet nothing in his ears as his fingers caress Louis’ back in a successful attempt to smooth his troublesome mind.  
  
“Thanks, love. You’re amazing.” Louis speaks with a choked voice when his emotions are finally under control.  
  
“Am I?” Harry asks as Louis leans back to look at his pretty face.  
  
“Yeah. Also, incredible cute. And gorgeous. You’re a kitten.”  
  
Harry kisses him briefly. “Your kitten.”  
  
They kiss a little more, bodies glued to each other as they share the warmth that wraps the couple in a bubble of pure love. Louis feels oddly full, as if he has gotten back a part of him that has been missing for a long, long time.  
  
"This is so crazy," Harry whispers, breaking the silence, his hands drawing forms against Louis' skin. "I dreamed with this, and now I just... Have you."  
  
His life harmonizes with Harry's in the best way possible, Louis thinks.  
  
"You have me here and probably forever," Louis answers softly. "My red belongs to you."  
  
And if that's a metaphor for his heart, not only his voice, Louis doesn't clarify.  
  
"That's a line from our song."  
  
"It is," Louis nods. "You’re always my inspiration."  
  
Harry smiles at him; it’s amazing the way his green eyes shine when they're together. It's a glimpse of real love, and Louis loves that it's for him.  
  
“You’re so handsome,” Harry whispers with a husky voice, kissing his forehead. “I just can believe this.”  
  
“You’re the only crazy mind who could stick up with me,” Louis says with complete honesty, knowing that any other guy would have abandoned him long time ago. No one wants to have someone so problematic by their side. "You have a shitload of patience."  
  
“I like to call it love.”  
  
Louis leans in, burying his face against Harry’s shoulder, trying to control his emotions. “Me too,” he says quietly.  
  
They spend a long time in silence, surrounded by the silence of the night and the beats of their hearts; time Louis uses to clear off his mind.  
  
“I’m sorry, kitten,” Louis apologizes after a long time, although he isn’t sure why is he apologizing. “I’m just so sorry.”  
  
“You apologize too much, Lou,” Harry whispers, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. Louis pokes his head up, wanting to get a kiss from his boy, who chuckles and kisses him softly on the lips. Louis swears he purrs at the touch. “You don’t need to apologize, at least not to me. I love you. Always will.” As he speaks the words, he squeezes Louis harder; the older boy tries to be as small as he can and buries his face on Harry’s chest, inhaling his smell and enjoying the feeling of being at home and in peace.  
  
“I need to. Haz, I was so rude with you," Louis insists stubbornly, as the memories of the past events come back to his mind. "I told you I was straight, big fucking deal."  
  
"I heard your voice. I knew you were lying," Harry says casually and Louis wishes he could stop justifying all the shitty thing Louis does. His behavior shouldn't be justified.  
  
"No, Harry, it shouldn't be so easy. I broke you two years ago and now…”  
  
“Shush it,” Harry says, kissing his lips just to feel the touch of their mouths against each other. “It’s okay."  
  
Louis responds with a long silence.  
  
“We are so fucked up, aren’t we?” Louis laughs bitterly after a while, knowing the answer.  
  
“I guess we are,” Harry nods, shrugging.  
  
None of them adds a word because words aren’t necessary. Louis draws his fingertips across Harry’s inked chest, feeling his heart drumming inside, a heart that probably beats for the same reason his own heart beats: each other.  
  
“Haz,” Louis calls, still hiding his face against Harry’s chest, so his words sound drowned. Harry listens, anyway.  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“Can… Please, would you like to stay here a little longer?” He whispers, closing his eyes to stop the tears from falling. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry, ever. “Stay with me. It’s Friday already and it means your trip is ending and—” He stops crying because he’s no longer able to keep on talking without breaking into sobs. “Don’t leave me, please. I can’t do this alone.”  
  
“Hey, Lou,” Harry whispers, kissing him better. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures and his soft tone is enough to calm Louis’ troublesome mind. “I’m here, as long as you want me.”  
  
“I want you forever,” Louis mumbles so quietly that he doubts Harry hears him.  
  
They kiss lazily for a while, losing each other in the soft sensation of their lips touching. It’s so warm and addictive; Louis could spend the rest of his life kissing Harry.  
  
Finally, the tiredness falls over them and wins the battle, making them sleepy and tired enough to fall asleep.  
  
“Lou,” Harry whispers quietly. “Thank you. For tonight— just thank you. I’m glad I have you.”

Louis feels his heart clenching at the sweet words of his lover, with a tingling feeling in his stomach.  
  
“I’m glad I have you too, love.” It’s all Louis craves: _his_   _love_. “I wish I was brave enough to keep you forever.”

"You are," Harry murmurs before falling asleep in Louis' arms, where he belongs.

_Maybe, Louis thinks, it's time to stand up and fight for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hush, I was dying to write the kissing scene! Thank you a lot for reading, I love you every single one of you! I truly enjoy writing this story, so every one who keeps up with this means the actual word to me.
> 
> Next chapter, Louis will make a huge step towards his self-acceptance :) He's strong (and he loves Harry so, so much). Don't forget that [my tumblr is open to your questions ](ijustgotowisharder.tumblr.com) :) Lottie x
> 
> Song for this chapter: [Pieces - RED ft. Abby Gregori](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoOBla0hk44)


	10. A Wiser Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis drives as David Bowie is singing Heroes in the background, his mind wandering by the memories of soft kisses and sweet words he built with Harry last night. He isn’t sure what he’s going to say, but he needs to speak out, to put in words everything that has been threatening his happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In sight of the recent events and Liam’s shitty interview for Attitude magazine talking shit about the lgbtqia+ community, I want to dedicate this chapter to every single fan who's also part of the amazing rainbow community. I want you to feel safe, happy and proud of who you are, despite of what people say. Please, please, keep being brave and never think less of you because of someone like Liam. This little girl here loves you and is proud of you :) 
> 
> Also, suck it, @ Liam Payne, watch me write fucking gay fanfiction about your band members as I give zero fucks about your irrelevant opinion.

It’s different this time. _So different._

When he wakes up, Harry is there, snoozing peacefully at his side, holding the promise that Louis won’t leave him.

Waking up next to someone you love is truly a blessing, Louis thinks. Harry is cuddled up beside him with an arm lazily wrapped around Louis’ waist, his facial expression tranquil and his mouth slightly open, tempting Louis. He wants that view to be his forever.

That’s why he needs to let go.

He never imagined how hard it could be to leave Harry alone in his bed. He has done it before, but it never felt this wrong.

But then again, he has somewhere to go, someone to talk to.

Once he’s dressed in fresh and new clothes, he writes a quick explanation note to his lover because, for the very first time, he isn’t planning on running away. He’s planning on fighting.

Liverpool is starting to wake up when Louis hits the road. He drives as David Bowie is singing  _Heroes_ in the background, his mind wandering back to the memories of soft kisses and sweet words he built with Harry last night. He isn’t sure what he’s going to say, but he needs to speak out, to put into words everything that has been threatening his happiness.

Once he arrives, Louis still is a little hesitant when he rings the bell of the house he hasn’t visited in years. He hears the footsteps and his heart skips a beat, moments later he’s face to face with Mark Tomlinson.

His father.

“Hi, dad,” he says shyly, waving his hand.

“Louis?” he asks, taken by surprise. Soon enough, his shocked expression shifts into a sincere and joyful smile. “Son, I’m so glad to see you!”

Mark hasn’t changed a bit. His face is the same face of a good man who’s thrilled to see his son after a long period of separation. Louis feels relieved, somehow.

He hasn’t been an attentive son lately, he feels a little guilty because Mark has always been a really good man to him. He doesn’t carry his last name without a reason, Mark has been always a real father.

“I wasn’t expecting you!” Mark says, surprised, and then moves a little to open the way. “Come inside.”

“Thanks. I should have called, I know,” Louis admits, still hesitant.

It’s like his shoes are glued to the ground, he doesn’t seem to find forces to move forward. He should have called, but his mind is too messed up with questions, feelings and answers he doesn’t want to hear; he couldn’t plan and call first. He needs someone who talks to him, he needs a father. “I’m sorry, are you busy? I can come later if you want.”

“Of course not, kiddo,” Mark interrupts him, shaking his head. “I’m always free for you. Come on, my house is yours. You look nice, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Louis whispers, walking into the house. He tries to force a smile, but his face muscles don't respond. He takes off his coat, hangs it up on the hanger, then follows Mark who leads him to the kitchen.

“How is Jay? How are the twins?”

Louis tries harder to smile a little as his father asks the questions, he’s glad that Mark has never shown any kind of resentment or hate towards Jay. “She’s thrilled, you know she loves kids.”

“Yes, I know,” Mark says with a nostalgic grin on his face. “So, do you prefer beer or a cup of tea? Sit down, son.”

“Thanks,” Louis whispers, taking a seat at the table. “I’m fine for now, thanks.”

Louis follows Mark with his gaze as he moves around, wondering why it is so hard for him to think of him as his father without remembering Troy. Jay views him as Louis’ father too, nobody really thinks about Troy.

Except Louis.

“Here we go,” Mark speaks as he lays on the table a package of Doritos, knowing how much Louis likes them; and then he goes to sit on the chair in front of him, face to face, sunken in a pleasant silence as he twists the cap off a beer for himself.

Thing is, Louis needs to start talking. Soon. “Your house is nice.”

“Thanks, Louis. I won’t take credit for it, a friend of mine did it all.”

Louis doesn’t really know how to start approaching the topic. It’s hard, harder than keeping up with his lies and his fake life. Lying is so easy, lying is the easiest way because Louis draws his life in his own way, faking what’s supposed to be different and ignoring what’s not supposed to be there.

The silence between father and son deepens as the weight in Louis’ stomach feels heavier. He’s glad he didn’t drink anything because he’s honestly feeling like throwing up.

Finally, it’s Mark who breaks the silence. “I guess this sudden visit is a pretty big deal for you, right? What’s bugging you, son?”

A little sad smile appears on the corner of Louis’ mouth as he listens to the question. This is what a real father does, know his kid better than he knows himself. He nibbles his lower lip as his mind is in search of a good way to start explaining the mess he’s in right now, yet he doesn’t know how to say the first word.

“Hum.” He realizes he has showed up in his father’s house without having a clue what to say. He sort of hoped Mark would be a mind reader, apparently.

“Hey, remember that I’m your father, Louis. I won’t judge you; I’m here to help you.”

_He’s almost a mind reader_ , Louis thinks. His muscles are contracted and tight, and although Louis is trying really hard to look composed, his body is exposing him, speaking for him.

“I’m …”  _I’m watching my life_ _fall_ _down in front of my eyes because I’m in love and I can’t escape from my lies_ , Louis thinks. It sounds pathetic and stupid, as real as it is, so he goes for a better alternative. “I’m having some personal issues. I mean, with friends, love and that stuff.” Marks nods, chewing a Dorito, uttering no words. His silence is respectful, not the kind of silence that pushes. “Do you remember Harry?” His heart skips a beat when he speaks his name.

Why does he have such a weak spot for the boy?

“The curly haired kid? I couldn’t have forgotten him,” he nods, chortling. “You two were very absolutely best mates.”

“We were,” Louis agrees, dead serious. The approach to the main topic is imminent; the conversation is being led by Louis, whatever he wants to say or not. “We fought two years ago.”

“Really?” he asks, genuinely surprised. It makes Louis’ stomach twist. “I thought you were inseparable, really. Jay complained that you didn’t pay attention to any other boy except Harry.”

Louis nods with the head as his mind recalls a past where sexuality didn’t matter and lies weren’t part of his life. He misses those times. He misses when Harry kissed his cheeks and it wasn’t a big deal. “We were.”

Mark rests his back against the chair and sips his beer before asking, “What happened with him?”

"We— Hum… I guess something like a misunderstanding,” Louis explains, speaking with a cautious tone. It sounds as if he was planning out every single word before speaking. “We’re fine now, anyway. He’s staying at my place for his vacation.”

“Well, I’m glad you guys could sort things out. Send him my hellos; he was a really nice kid.”

“I will.”

Louis has his eyes glued to the table, completely frozen. He feels the eyes of his father studying him, trying to find the reason that brought him there. The mood has shifted in the blink of an eye; now there’s nothing comfortable or welcoming in the silence, it’s just a piercing and cold one.

Louis wants to cry; somehow his lack of words to talk about his feelings are driving him insane.

“You are here because of Harry, aren’t you, Louis?”

Mark knows. Louis is positive his father has guessed his feelings as soon as he started speaking about Harry because as much as he tries to be straight, there’s something on him that changes when he talks about Harry.

Louis tries to swallow the lump in his throat and with a tiny voice he says, “Yes. It’s Harry. It’s about… Him.”

Tears start pricking his eyes, and  _oh_ . He's crying.

He tries to wish away his nervousness, but he’s starting to open up about his feelings to someone for the very first time, upsetting him on a level that isn’t probably healthy.

He feels as if he was drowning in the middle of the ocean with no sight of the shore.

“Louis?” Mark asks. His voice sounds too stern for Louis’ liking; it sends shivers down his spine. “Do you love him?”

Louis’ mind evokes the soft caresses, the lovely whispers and the lips of Harry’s against his, he remembers last night and shivers as he does.

Yes, he does.

He loves Harry with every muscle in his body, he doesn’t even know where to begin to explain how much Harry means to him. He has loved him since they were young and carefree, since they didn’t know what love meant. He had loved him when Harry confessed his love, and he loved him even more when he lied to his face.

He loves Harry and he doesn’t want it any other way, regardless of the pain it causes.

“Yes,” Louis whispers, his voice drowned with the tears he’s no longer trying to contain. His lies, his fake life and façade, they are all taking a toll on him. “Yes, fuck. I love him.” It feels as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but acknowledging how he feels for Harry, the weight lightens a little.

When Mark realizes his son isn’t only crying, but also desperately needing comfort, he stands up to sit next to him, patting his back. “Louis. It’s okay, son.”

“I’m so sorry, dad,” Louis weeps, tears spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t want to look into his father’s eyes; he doesn’t want to see the disappointment and rejection in them. “I’m sorry; I don’t know why it happened. I just,” he hiccups, sneezing. “Fuck, I’m such a pussy.”

“Louis, you’re not a pussy,” Mark speaks gently, still patting his back tenderly and with understanding like the true father that he is. “You don’t have to apologise for being in love with Harry. It was sort of obvious, if you ask me.”

Louis doesn’t find any other thing to say more than  _I’m sorry._

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, kiddo,” Mark orders, standing up to make some tea. Louis crosses his arms on the table and buries his face in them, howling. He needs Harry to whisper with his indulgent and healing voice that everything is going to be all right. He wants Harry there, and the mere thought makes his body quiver.

He’s so— gone for him.

Luckily, his father’s acceptance works on making it better, too.

As the water boils, Louis cries and Mark watches him silently. Troy’s words are hammering his mind with cruelty; it doesn’t matter if the man in front of him is completely fine with him being gay, he can’t accept it yet.

“Now, tell me, Louis,” Mark says when the tea is done, offering a cup to Louis.

“What’s so wrong with you loving Harry? He doesn’t love you back?”

“No, it’s not that,” Louis speaks, his insecurities intense inside him. He wipes his tears with the back of his hand before taking the cup. His hand is shaking a little; he’s embarrassed by how weak he’s being. “He loves me. We kissed yesterday.”

“Well, that’s great. That means you two are in a relationship?”

“No,” Louis says, emphatic. “Harry wants it though. Fuck, we would have been married with five kids, two dogs and a mansion if it was up to him. He…” He stops his wordy bluster to take a breath, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds. “He has always been so honest with me. But I have always been a liar.”

“A liar?” Mark repeats, frowning.

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know anything about Louis’ life. He still thinks Louis is happy when in reality, Louis is miserable.

“I’m so tired of lying, dad.”

“Then stop,” Mark says, rational.

“I can’t,” Louis argues, trembling as he realises that his life has become an absolute mess. “I— Everybody. I… I.”

“Louis,” Mark cuts him, trying to gain control of the situation. “Please, stop stuttering, son. Let’s talk like the men we know we are. You love Harry, he loves you back, but you can’t be with him because apparently… You’re a liar. I guess you haven’t come out, then? That’s not a big deal, trust me when I say Jay suspects you like boys, too.”

“It’s not that easy,” Louis mutters, a little angry that Mark makes everything look so easy to fix. It’s not that easy.

“What’s stopping you? You’re such a brave man, Louis, you always fight for what you want. Look at you, look at everything you have done, look the success you have with your record label. You’re strong, kid. Why can’t you be strong for Harry?”

Louis looks up at his dad, whose questioning eyes are fixed on him. He has probably talked about this with Jay so many times before; everybody who got to know Harry and Louis in their earliest years had discussed their bond and relationship.

They have always been more than friends, Louis knows it.

“Troy.”

Louis spits out his father’s name with loathing, tasting its bitter flavour.

“Troy? Your biological father? What—?”

Mark’s eyes widen as his mind is recalling something from the past. He opens his mouth, but he speaks no words. He just looks at Louis with puzzled eyes.

“Louis.” He’s absolutely straight-faced when he speak. “Hear me, kid: you’re not a worthless twink.”

Mark knows. Jay and he were still together when Troy came back, of course Jay had told him. Louis is glad though because it’s comforting to know his stepfather cares about him and wants to know his issues.

But he doesn’t know everything, he doesn’t know what Louis has been trying to ignore, to bury in the back of his mind.

“I... I called him.” He feels the sour sensation in his mouth and somehow, tears aren’t enough to express his suffering. “Dad. Fuck. I— I wanted to know why he thought that thing about me.”

“Oh my God, Louis. Son, you shouldn’t have. Troy abandoned you, he…”

“You think I don’t know that?” Louis snaps at him, interrupting him as his eyes flash angrily. “He’s my fucking father! I know he's a prick, but I needed him when I was younger, I always wanted… Why did he leave me?” He’s asking a rhetorical question, not looking for an answer, but he’s finally asking the question that mattered the most for him. “Am I not enough? Am I such a failure?”

“You’re not a failure, Louis, you never were.” Mark keeps his voice firm, but Louis doesn’t miss the obvious concern in his eyes. “Troy is. He failed, not only as father, he failed as person, too.”

“I can still hear him say those words, even now.”

“Why? Louis, you weren’t supposed to hear that in the first place.”

“I was hidden in the closet, ironically,” Louis says, laughing bitterly at his words. “I know Mum cried and I heard him. I still remember when Troy said I was- that. Then I called him. Fuck, I called him almost five times that week and he… He. Yeah.”

“Louis.” Mark cuts his ramblings because it’s obvious that it isn’t doing any good, it’s just causing further harm. “You’re not worthless. What Troy said was mean and uncalled for, but it doesn’t have to mean something. Actually, it means nothing.” He stops Louis from talking with a wave of hands. “I understand that hurts, anyway, because he’s your father. I wish you could take me as your father in every way, but I know he’s the one who gave life to you. But that’s all, Louis. He gave you life and then he ran away. He has no right to judge you, ever. You’re not what he thinks about you. You’re much, much more than that.”

Louis needs this so much. He needs to hear his father’s thoughts, to know he’s worth something. He’s still a little kid at heart, needing love and trust. He needs someone to trust him, to bet on him; and Troy is the constant reminder that he’s not worth the bet.

“Thanks, dad,” Louis whispers, overwhelmed. He didn't know a human being was able to fight such a hard battle inside their mind. “Really, thank you. It’s… Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for speaking the truth, Louis,” Mark says, nodding. “It’s evident how much you love that boy, kiddo. You speak of him and your whole face lights up. You shouldn’t let it go to waste because of Troy.”

Love is hard to hide, especially when it’s truthful. Simple lies can hide minor things, but love… It just makes you do and say things, things you never imagined. Louis knows his father is speaking the truth, so he finally smiles, a little one but a smile in the end.

“People say the same about him.”

Hell, he saw it. He saw how wide Harry smiles every time Louis appears, he saw his eyes sparkling when his pet names escape his lips. He’s capable of seeing the love Harry offers him every day without hesitation.

“Dad, I’m just so fucking tired of everything,” Louis sighs, crushed. “My whole life is a big lie. I date girls, dad, I actually fuck girls and pretend to like them when in reality I’m only attracted to Harry.” Maybe he’s being too honest right now, but once he has started talking, he can’t stop his tongue. “You don’t know what it feels like to be with someone when you love someone else. It’s so— bitter. Mum thinks I actually like those girls.”

“I don’t think Jay is that oblivious, son, your mother is not blind.”

Louis laughs sarcastically, dealing with a sudden burst of self-hatred. “I don’t give her a chance to doubt, dad. I shove every girl I fuck in her face, trying to prove that Troy was wrong about me.”

“Right, Louis. Then tell me,” Mark asks, folding his arms across his chest. “You are a music producer. You have money and a record label. You’re successful and I’m pretty sure you’re going to be well-known in the business soon. Tell me, kid, what would have changed if you were in a relationship with Harry right now?”

Mark has a point. He makes the question straight forward, actually wondering what would have changed. Louis can build a view of that, he can imagine the situation inside his head, a world where he’s engaged to Harry.

 _Loved_ , that's the simple change. If he was with Harry, he would be truly and openly loved and he would love in return.

“Loved. I’d be loved.”

There’s still this part of his persona that pushes him to his limits, faking what’s not supposed to be faked. His mean side, carrying an internalized sexual stigma, a stigma that’s only real in the eyes of the man who gave Louis life.

“I feel that being gay is a weakness,” Louis confesses with a weak voice. “When I’m with Harry though— I just want to give him everything.”

“The truth doesn’t cost anything, but a lie can cost you everything. Don’t let Troy cost you what matters the most for you. Don’t ruin what you have with Harry,” Mark speaks with concern, offering him a sincere smile. “What you and that kid have is amazing, son, protect it. If I could have that kind of love, that kind of devotion— Man, I wouldn’t care about anything else.”

“Was like that with mum?” he asks for the mere point of lightening the mood.

“Not that strong,” Mark denies, frank. “I loved Jay, don’t get me wrong, but the look on your face when you talk about Harry— that’s a different thing.”

“I know, dad, but it’s Troy,” Louis insists, thus the knot in his stomach feels lighter. “I know he has no right to— Talk about me, but… I mean. Being gay…”

“It’s not easy, you know,” Mark admits, raising eyebrows. He’s always honest and Louis is thankful because honesty is the only thing he needs. “You have to get your arse out there and fight against Troy. It’s not going to be easy; unfortunately the voices that are mean to us are the hardest to let go. But if you love Harry, give it all to him.” Louis’ eyes are filled with tears, but this time, those aren’t tears of sorrow. “It’s the hardest but best thing you can do. I’m pretty sure he’s worth the risk.”

“He is,” Louis agrees, and the very first authentic smile appears in the corner of his mouth. “He’s worth it all.”

“Then fight, Louis. It’s the only advice I can give to you.”

Louis suddenly feels exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite thanks to [Jenny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jenguin/pseuds/jenguin) for proofreading this chapter. You're a hero :)♥
> 
> I really wanted to write this, Louis was really needing to open up a little. He's getting closer, one step at time :) Also, thanks to those who have recced this story! I found [this post](http://cuethetommo.tumblr.com/post/128293958474/fic-rec-list-fics-youre-probably-not-reading) and I couldn't be happier to see people are enjoying this little piece of writing :)
> 
> Next chapter: Harry listens something he isn't supposed he hear, making everything difficult (or easier). Louis needs more than just a kiss from him, also.
> 
> Song for this chapter: [Heroes - David Bowie ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keoJMgD5QZQ)


	11. I Sang For Love Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis wrote this, wrote and composed a song that sounds like true love, a love that’s meant for Harry and just for Harry. It’s like a secret love confession because the only one who can hear its colour is Harry, and he’s also the only one who knows what that colour means.  
> “What is this song called?” Harry asks, but he knows the answer.  
> “American Rose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, [Jenny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jenguin/pseuds/jenguin) is my proofreader hero ♥️

It’s just a signature. It’s Harry’s name scribbled with a messy and rushed handwriting and his clarification underneath, it’s his signature on a piece of paper that holds no value except the words printed on them.

It’s just a signature, but for Harry that simple mark means the world.

“Well, it’s official!” Liam exclaims, and Harry smiles when he finishes signing. “Signed contract and all. Welcome to Parma Ham Records, Harry Styles.”

“Thank you, Liam,” he thanks happily as the legal representative puts all the papers inside a folder. “I’m no longer just a collaborator then.” He sits in front of this work mate and now friend, as the realisation sinks into him.

“Pleasure to see you, Payne,” the man says and Harry doesn’t really pay attention to him because this, _this is really happening_.

He came to Liverpool with a broken heart and no clear path to follow, now he has a job, a clear pathway and _almost_ has his heart back to its place.

He _wants_ this. He needs this because he hears the black harmonies when they don’t fit, he knows a song won’t make it because it sounds coated and a little brown; he knows a song will be a hit because it’s fluorescent.

He feels like he’s _part_ of something (and if that something has Louis in it, so much better).

“I’m so glad you finally decided to be all the way in,” Liam admits as he sits at his office, leaving the door open. “This goes beyond our friendship, you’re really good at making music, H.”

“Thanks.” Harry is beaming, his face hurts from the smiling, but he loves the sensation. “This is… Really important. I don’t— I don’t usually fit. My family doesn’t see my synesthesia the way you do.”

“That’s why Louis said you preferred to stay quiet about it?”

Harry nods silently, savouring the moment. He’s finally part of something.

“I’m glad you work with Louis. He’s great at writing lyrics, but you’re better with the chords. You two are the perfect match, aren’t you?”

Liam is trying to bring Louis into the conversation and his eyes say it all, they say he knows, but Harry doesn’t give him the chance.

“I need to start looking for a house now that I have an income.” As much as he loves to live at Louis’, he knows it won’t be long until Jay asks him to move out. He doesn’t blame her, she has a lot of kids to look after and Harry adds to her responsibilities. He doesn’t want that, Jay loves him as a son as it’s up to Harry to reciprocate the respect and give her space. “I can’t live at Louis’ forever.”

Liam’s eyes do that thing, a glimpse of sympathy flashes on them, only to disappear as quickly as it appeared. Harry knows his and Louis’ relationship isn’t perfect, but they’re _something_ and that’s enough for now.

“Speaking about Louis, where is he?” Liam asks, hesitant. “I thought he was going to be here. I mean…” He doesn’t finish his question in sight of the warning glance Harry throws him. “Where is he?”

Harry doesn’t really know what to reply. He doesn’t know where Louis is, he just found a note explaining him that he would be back soon.

And don’t get him wrong, he trusts him, he _wants_ to trust. But his mind is struggling with the memories of last night, the kisses, the embraces and the whispered words and everything seems too perfect to be real.

“I don’t know. He’s out of town.”

He wonders if Liam suspects what happened between them, if he suspects how deeply in love Harry is with Louis.

It’s very likely that he does.

“Harry.”

“You don’t have to feel bad for me,” Harry spurs as a flash of irritation crosses his green eyes.

“I don’t, H, but I’m not that stupid,” Liam sighs with a mixture of resignation and sympathy. He doesn’t add a word straight away, he stares at the desk he isn’t seeing instead. “I just… Look, I can’t really judge yours and Louis’ relationship because I don’t even know what’s happening between you two, but as far as I’m concerned, Louis looks like shit all the time except when he’s with you.”

“It is what it is.” Harry quotes the exact words tattooed on Louis’ chest.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Liam mutters as he crosses his arms against his chest. “Louis is my friend and now you’re my friend, too. I care about you two.” Liam’s rising orange tone suggests exasperation, but he still manages to sound polite. “The other night… Harry, Louis was pretending he liked Daniela, I’m not that stupid, he can barely hold her hand. And today I told her you’re going to be part of the company and she pretty much wanted to quit. What’s going on between you and Louis?”

It’s not Harry’s place to clarify the situation. He knows they kissed, but Louis’ baby steps can’t be done by anyone else but him. He needs to help him, not overwhelm him.

“Don’t make it difficult, Liam,” Harry pleads, low but firm, praying that his friend is perceptive to recognise his cue to stop. “We’re fine like this, please don’t make me say something I know I’ll regret.”

Liam nibbles his nails as he watches Harry speak, he’s dying to ask questions, but he’s civil enough to stay quiet. “I don’t want that, sorry, H. I hope you can fix this.” How observant he is that he knows there’s something to fix, Harry thinks. “I can put two and two together, you know? The songs Louis wrote about being free, your coming back, and his change of behaviour… It’s all connected, I bet all my money on that.”

Harry knows he can’t confirm or deny the point, but he can’t lie neither, so he prefers to stay quiet and let Liam build his own conclusions.

Truth be told, this situation is fairly new for him. Nobody has acknowledged his and Louis’ relationship before, not in the way Liam does. Jay used to joke about them being best friends, but it has never been anything romantic when she talked about them.

And the thing is, their relationship has always been romantic, even when they didn’t know what romance meant. Harry had given his heart the day Louis swore he would protect him from the kids that laughed at him. They sealed their love when Louis swore he would be there to make his sensory overload better.

They have always worked as _soulmates_ , despite everybody treating them as simple _friends_.

“I’m sorry, H, I overreacted,” Liam apologises to Harry’s prolonged silence.

“That’s okay, Li, don’t worry.”

Liam stands up, walking towards Harry. He pats his back kindly and Harry offers him a weak smile.

“Hey. Come to the studio, okay? I have something I want to show you.”

“Yeah, okay” Harry accepts as he takes his phone from his pocket. “Just a sec.”

Liam nods and walks away from the office, where Harry is left alone with his phone. There isn’t any message or indicator that Louis won’t leave him; and as much as he’s projecting his trust into the moment, his stomach feels a little heavy.

 

**i miss u.**

 

The message comes off as needy as desperate (and really, it’s both), but Harry doesn’t care when he hits send, hoping that Louis will read the message. Harry locks the phone and walks to the recording room, knowing that his mind won’t be able to concentrate on anything except the phone in his pocket.

Daniela is inside the room with Niall, the new intern, and Liam. They’re listening to a song and Harry’s heart flutters when the fluorescent tones of the song Louis and he composed flash upon his eyes.

“Told you Louis and Harry are the rocking duo!” Niall exclaims enthusiastically as the song comes to an end.

Daniela exchanges a gaze with Harry, who smiles at her, courteous. She doesn’t return the smile though, and heads off to the main desk without even saying goodbye.

“Foxes loved the song,” Liam says, winking at Harry. “Okay, Niall, I need a minute just with Harry, so…”

“I got it,” Niall cuts him off, rolling his eyes. “Keeping secrets from the intern! Bye, fuckers!”

Before walking out of the room, Niall slaps Harry’s bum just to piss him off. Harry is taken by surprise, but when he turns around to yell at Niall, he’s already out of the room, laughing out loud.

“This is not over, Horan!” Harry laughs as Liam closes the door.

“Kids,” he mutters under his breath as he walks towards the laptop. “Okay then, we have this…” He takes another CD, one that’s labeled as “Louis’ song” without any explanation under it. “An unreleased song Louis wrote and sang himself.”

"Really?" Harry asks, surprised. "That's great! Louis has a lovely voice."

"He does," Liam agrees.

Harry recalls the times when Louis was part of the school drama department and loved singing. He had thought that part of his life was over, really, which was such a waste because Louis’ voice was a perfect shade of reddish tone for people to hear.

“This was meant to be a duet with one of our artists, but we couldn’t  find the right one.”

As Liam moves to start playing the track, Harry’s heart starts beating a little faster inside his chest. Thing is, _he doesn’t know what to expect_ but he knows he’s supposed to expect something.

His heart is beating ridiculously fast and his mind is recalling everything they whispered to each other last night; and he wants Louis so much it aches and, for the very first time, he knows it aches inside Louis, too.

“It’s a great song. We’ll find another artist to collaborate with Louis, trust me.”

"I hope so," he nods, hesitant. "I didn't know Louis wanted to have a singing career."

"He doesn't, really. He just finds this song... Extremely important and wants to share it."

Harry’s eyes follow Liam as he puts the recording in the laptop, curiosity strong in him. The silence is heavy in his ears, brown as the darkest chocolate.

Then, the music starts.

First, it’s silence. Then it’s just Louis’ voice whispering random words, then it’s a chord, and _then it happens._

It’s red, _but it’s not._

It’s pink, _but it’s not._

It’s a little yellow, but a little more of magenta. It’s a dash of white with no black and cyan, it’s _American Rose_.

Harry cringes as the colours starts wrapping him, recalling the only thing that has brought that colour to his ears. It tingles, it makes his stomach twist with the frenzy of emotions.

It was meaningless, it was nothing, they were eighteen and fifteen, Harry was crying, and Louis had said it. _I love you_.

_I love you, Harry._

The memories makes him shiver. It was nothing, but it was the first time he heard the shade of American Rose, a colour that briefly appears when Louis calls him _Harry_ and pours all his love into the name.

“Harry? Are you alright?”

Liam’s orange voice makes Harry realise he’s not alone, that he’s in the recording studio. He comes back to reality, looking up at his friend with dazed eyes. He doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

Louis wrote this, wrote and composed a song that sounds like true love, a love that’s meant for Harry and just for Harry. It’s like a secret love confession because the only one who can hear its colour is Harry, and he’s also the only one who knows what that colour means.

“What is this song called?” He asks, but he knows the answer.

“American Rose.”

 

 

 

 

 

The night sky is dark above Louis when he arrives at home, parking his car on the garage. The lights from the girls’ room are turned off, indicating that they’re already asleep.

When Louis closes the garage doors and walks towards the main door, he spots the constant changing light from the TV and a small figure curled up on the couch, back to the window.

_Fight, son. Fight._

Louis walks inside and finds Harry watching TV on the sofa, wrapped in a pink blanket that belongs to Lottie. Louis just stares, stares at the beautiful creature he has the pleasure of calling his lover.

Harry’s eyes are glued to the screen as he unconsciously plays with his lower lip, caught up in the movie. His heart does _things_ when Harry is near him _,_ things he doesn’t know how to express by words, so he chooses music to express them instead.

“Hello there, Harold.”

Harry turns at him as soon as he hears his voice.

“Lou!” His whole face lights up, smiling widely, making his dimples appear as Louis walks towards him. He kicks off his shoes and quickly settles on the couch, nuzzling against his boy.

Harry extends an arm and wraps Louis with it, also covering his body with the pinkish blanket.

“Hi, little Kitten,” Louis whispers, face to face. “Did you miss me?

He finds himself yearning closeness with the younger boy, a kind of closeness he never thought he could allow himself to feel.

_Fight, son._

“Hi,” Harry replies. Louis’ breathing hitches when Harry leans into to press a light kiss on the edge of his mouth. He makes a tiny moan, delighted with the sensations. “I did, I missed you. I sent you a message.”

Harry takes the remote and turns off the TV, sinking them in a gloomy atmosphere where everything is dark except for the weak light from the streetlamps, passing through the windows.

“I know, sorry that I didn’t reply, love. I wasn’t planning to spend my whole day out of town,” Louis begins to explain, lazily sliding his fingertips by the sharp features of Harry’s face. “I wanted to be here for dinner. I suck with schedules.”

Harry giggles, his eyes crinkly as he tries to contain his fondness. “No worries, I dealt with Jay pretty well. She still panics when you don’t answer her calls.”

“Yeah, she thinks I’m three,” Louis growls, rolling his eyes.

“Nah, she just loves you,” Harry denies, kissing him on the cheek. “Where did you go, Lou?”

Louis looks up at him, expectant. He rests his head on the sofa, letting the peace that Harry’s arm brings him lull him into relaxation. “I went to Mark’s.”

“Your dad?” Harry asks, puckering his brow.

“Yes. He remembers you, you know?” Louis is looking at him with a dopey smile. “He called you ‘the curly haired boy’.”

“Why does everybody call me that?” Harry asks, gruffly.

“Because you’re a curly haired boy, dork.”

It’s ridiculous how content Harry’s smile makes Louis feel, but he can’t bring himself to think about it too deeply, not right now.

“Thank you for writing me that note, Lou,” Harry speaks softly, the lights from the window create a dazzling light effect on half of his pretty face. “I panicked a little when I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“I wanted you to know that I wasn’t running away or something,” Louis explains, voice barely audible. “I was just… Needing my father, but I promised you I wasn’t going to leave you. Not again.”

“That’s okay,” Harry nods, kissing him on the forehead. “Did you talk about—?”

Louis bites the tip of his tongue as he nods. “Us. Yes, I wanted to talk about us. About Troy, about— me.”

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

“Thanks, babe, but it doesn’t mean that I’m—” He swallows, trying to erase the nervous tension inside him. “I’m not ready to… Come out. Yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t want this for the coming out, Lou,” Harry explains with total honesty in his soft voice. “I want this for you. Your lies are hurting you and I hate to see you hurting. I love you.”

“Haz,” he whispers halfheartedly for the reason that he wants to say it, _he wants it so bad,_ but he doesn’t have the strength yet.

“Shh. I’m proud of you.”

Louis feels chills running down his spine, he loves every bone of that perfect boy and he's starting to accept that maybe there's nothing wrong with that because his love isn't only romantic, it’s way more powerful than that.

"Hey," Louis asks, resting a finger underneath Harry's chin. "Would you kiss me?"

"Well, isn’t the answer obvious?" Harry nods.

It feels right asking though. Louis isn't used to this; asking is a way not only of having Harry's consent, but also a way of asking himself if he's allowed to do what it feels right.

He's asking both his and Harry's consent. And maybe his mother is somewhere in the house, maybe she can see them, and it doesn’t mean Louis doesn’t care, he cares a lot; but he also _wants_ , and wanting means nothing without a little fighting.

“I missed you,” Louis says when he breaks the kiss.

“But… ’M annoying,” Harry murmurs, hiding his face on the crook of his neck. “And needy.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely needy,” he assures, kissing Harry’s temple. “And I love it.”

Harry beams, leaning back to look into his eyes. Louis can’t really grasp the idea of a future with his man because it seems too perfect and too amazing to be true. Yet he wants it, he want it so bad.

His father has told him, he has to fight for it.

“I signed today,” Harry says, realising Louis doesn’t know yet. “I’m officially part of your record label.”

“What? Haz, that’s great!” Louis exclaims and his face cracks into a smile. “Fuck, that’s amazing! I didn’t know today was the day, love. Liam told me that… That’s so great! You belong here, for God’s sake, you were made to write and compose music!” It’s Harry’s achievement and he feels it as his own. “I’m so proud of you, Kitten.”

“Now I have to tell my dad that I’ll be staying in Liverpool,” he adds, quite melancholy when he refers to his father. “And get a flat. So many things to do.”

“One step at time, Kitten,” Louis soothes him, kissing his forehead. “For now, enjoy this, and welcome to Parma Ham Records.”

They kiss lazily after that, keeping it tender to enjoy the sensations. Louis gasps when Harry runs his hands down his chest, landing on his hips without going further. They don’t open his eyes even when they separate their lips momentarily because they want it soft, they want to feel each other on a deeper lever.

There’s something in Harry, though, a little hint of nervousness that clicks in Louis’ mind.

“Haz,” he calls his name trying to put all his feelings in that simple name. “Haz, baby. What are you thinking about?”

Harry purrs as he presses their lips together, skimming his fingertips by Louis’ upper arm. “I heard your song, Lou.”

Harry speaks with a croaky voice. The fragility of the moment claims tenderness in everything, even in their words. Louis’ heart skips a beat listening to him.

_American Rose._

“Foxes’ song?” he asks, although he knows what song Harry is referring to.

“No,” Harry denies, finally sitting up on the couch, breaking the atmosphere. “American Rose.”

 _Harry’s song_. When Louis first wrote it, he was broken and drowning in a love he wasn’t supposed to feel, but he felt anyway. He wrote the lyrics of a song about a little boy whose fears were black, whose words were polychrome. He wrote a song about how much he loved and still loves Harry.

“It didn’t work,” Louis pretexts, feeling his cheeks warming up with the blush. “I didn’t find a collaborator.”

“Don’t play the fool with me, Lou,” Harry says, speaking with emphasis. “That song… You know it’s the only thing that sounds American Rose for me.”

 _The only ‘I love you’ I spoke to you_ , Louis answers mentally. He looks down to his hands, hands that are playing nervously with a loose thread of his shirt.

They remain in silence and Harry refuses to break that silence, forcing Louis to pick up his shit, man up and finally start fighting for him.

“Yes,” he murmurs. He feels thick pumps beating like drums inside his chest, the adrenaline blended with his blood.

 _Fight, son, fight_.

“Yes, I know.”

Harry smirks, he fucking _smirks_ with obvious smugness. “I don’t know how you do it, but every time you… It’s like you pour love into the words, I don’t know how, but you managed to make it sound American Rose. How? It’s… Only your love confessions sound like that. When you speak with your heart, when you just… Your love is American Rose. How did you make that song sound like that?”

“Because,” Louis stutters. He wets his lower lip with his tongue, eyes focusing on Harry. “Maybe because the song _is_ a love confession.”

“It is?”

His eyes are fixed on the rosy lines that are Harry’s lips, the lines of his upper lip are exquisite to the eyes, tempting him. Maybe Louis is going crazy, but he suddenly finds every little detail on Harry interesting to study, as if he was a master piece.

“Lou,” Harry calls, waking Louis up from his fantasies. He wants him, wants him so badly. Yesterday he didn’t have the strength to be intimate with Harry, but right now he sort of confessed his love through a song, a love confession only Harry could understand because he’s the only one who hears the coloursin the melodies.

Harry trails his fingers by the waistline of Louis’ boxers, causing him to gasp at the touch, closing his eyes.

“I want you,” Louis manages to whispers in a tight voice filled with fears, but also longing.

“Louis?”

Just like the clock breaks the spell, Jay’s voice brings Louis back to reality, a reality when he’s straight and he doesn’t feel anything for Harry, or he pretends so. A reality where he’s still inside the closet.

Jay turns on the light and finds Louis snuggled against Harry, who’s in a very suggestive position. The boy leans back immediately, clearing his throat as he drops Louis’ hand.

“Hi, mum.”

“I didn’t hear you arrive,” Jay says, eyeing at their hands, hands Louis intertwined again. It’s the little things that makes the bigger steps, he thinks. “Where did you go? I didn’t see you in the whole day!”

“I was with Dad, Mum,” Louis explains as Harry rests his head on the headrest, caressing Louis’ hand with his thumb.

“With Mark? Oh.” She looks pleased. “He misses you, I’m glad you visited him.” Her attention jumps to Harry. “Everything all right, Harry, dear?”

“Yes, thanks, Jay,” Harry nods, polite. “I was actually heading off bed, I need to sleep.”

“Same,” Louis nodded.

“That’s all right. I wanted to check on you, dear, that’s all,” Jay says, approaching to his son to kiss him goodnight. She kisses Harry too. “Good Night, boys!”

“Bye, Jay.”

Louis watches her leave and in the instant they’re alone, he buries his head on Harry’s chest. “I hate her. She killed the moment.”

Harry chuckles, hugging him tightly. “We have plenty of time. Let’s go to sleep, Lou.”

“Together, right?”

Harry fails on hiding how happy he is to know Louis wants to sleep with him. “Together. Always together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS SO IMPORTANT FOR ME. I mean, you finally get to know why this fic is called "American Rose". Actually, it's going to be super important in the upcoming chapters.
> 
> I love you guys, thank you endlessly for your support! I love knowing there are people out there reading this little piece of writing. Lottie x
> 
> Song for this chapter: [Wild - Troye Sivan ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdXNNveYOfU) (I'm working on the playlist for this fic. I'd love to hear your suggestions!)
> 
> Next chapter: It all gets a bit too much. Louis explodes.


	12. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His family doesn’t know, but they could know at any time. Louis feels exposed, attacked, threatened by Mark. His façade can be broken by one of his words, can be broken if he decides to speak up. He can’t predict the future, he’s making blind steps with no clear direction, and he can’t hold Harry’s hand to guide him because he doesn’t know where he’s going in the first place.
> 
> He feels so, so absent.

Things are going great.

Louis takes a deep breath as he rests the phone on the bathroom sink, resting his hand on the cold marble, his ears buzzing with the deathly silence that fills every corner of the house. His eyes are glued to the water that falls from the tap, splashing against the white sink. He looks at his reflection in the mirror as he tries to convince himself that things are going great. 

It’s been a week since he visited Mark. One week, and of course he hasn’t come out yet, but it doesn’t mean things aren’t going great. They actually are, ok? Louis isn’t feeling exposed right now, of course not. He’s aware that his fake life is threatened by Mark because he knows now, but of course it doesn’t scare him, right? 

Louis doesn’t notice the splash of hope on Harry every time he looks at him, hope for a future where they can be together, where the rosewood from Louis’ voice doesn’t exist anymore. Of course it isn’t killing Louis because he knows things are going great.

“Fucking great,” Louis growls, smiling bitterly at the irony of his thoughts.

 _Great,_ things are so great. 

“Louis?”

His mother’s voice gives him a starts when she opens the door. “Mum!”

Jay walks into the bathroom, carrying the laundry box. She was clearly not expecting to find her son in the house so easily. Louis tries to give her a smile, but his muscles don’t cooperate with his requests.

“What are you doing here, darling?” she asks, confused. “I thought you were in the studio.”

Louis nods, turning around to wash his face with cold water. “I was. I felt a little lightheaded so I came back to take a nap.”

Louis hadn’t realised how easy it is for him to lie. Even the littlest things, like a fake excuse. The truth never comes first for him. And the mere realisation scares him because he hasn’t lied to Harry ever, but that’s not enough.

 _Thing are going great._  

“Oh, poor boy,” Jay mutters, running her hand though Louis’ messy hair. “You need to make an appointment with the doctor?”

Louis doesn’t need a doctor, he needs his freedom back and the safety of his lies. He trusts Harry with his life; and don’t get him wrong, he knows if Mark talks with Jay about Louis’ issue it isn’t because he’s a traitor or anything like that, it’s just because he’s being a good father. The thing is, though, Louis doesn’t want him to talk. He wishes Mark could forget what he has said to him. 

“No, thanks mum. It’s just bad headache,” he declines politely, trying to diminish the subject. “I don’t have to worry so much about Liam now though,” he says, getting rid of his mother’s hands. “I have Harry to check on him.” 

“Oh, yes, I know! What a great thing, hum?” Jay beams happily, nodding her head. “He told me yesterday. I’m so happy you two are working together right now. He also told me he’s looking for a new house, which I think it’s awesome.”

 _It is, but it’s not,_ Louis think. He doesn’t want to have Harry away, they have been sleeping together almost every night until now. Harry doesn’t ask, doesn’t try to label anything, he just wants to be Louis’ little spoon and Louis doesn’t want that to stop anytime soon. He can’t grasp the idea of being without Harry, he lived like that once and he doesn’t want to repeat it. It hurts to be without Harry, a physical pain. 

“Yeah, I should do the same.”

Jay laughs about something Louis doesn’t catch at all. “I thought you’d move out with him, too. You know…”

No, Louis _doesn’t know_. Why is his mother thinking that he’s so clingy that he needs to move out with Harry?

Also, _why is his mother so right?_

“No, mum, Harry needs his own space.”

 _Lies_. Louis is such a big weak liar. The whole concept of personal space sounds so meaningless, people need personal space when they have something to keep away from others and Louis doesn’t have anything, _anything_ he wants to keep away from Harry. 

Yet he’s still closeted. He’s still weak. 

“Harry doesn’t seem to want space when he’s with you,” his mother says, rolling her eyes. “But, well— take care, sweetheart, I have painkillers in my room if you need them.”

God, there actually is someone on this planet who isn’t aware how painfully in love they are with each other? 

His mother leaves the bathroom after picking up the dirty towels, leaving Louis alone floating in his anxiety. He goes straight to his bed, where he collapses completely crushed, feeling the weight of the world in his shoulders. 

Thing should have gotten better after visiting his father, not worse. He closes his eyes and falls asleep for a brief moment with thoughts of pretty green eyes and light kisses with Harry. 

He wakes up with his phone buzzing as he buries his face on the pillow. Sighing, he glances at the caller ID.

_His boy._

He rubs his eyes as he tries to wake up a little more. “Haz, hey.”

“Lou.”

Louis doesn’t need to hear it twice to know Harry has been crying. He feels his throat closing at the thought of his boy crying. He panics so easily when it comes to Harry.

“Kitten, are you ok?”

“How’s your head?” Harry interrupts him, always caring for Louis.

“I’m fine, doesn’t matter. What happened, love?”

“I,” he says. His voice is croaky and a little weak, it’s crystal clear he has been crying a long time now. “Lou. I— called my dad.”

“What? That fucker,” Louis rants, but quickly apologises. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m his son, Lou,” Harry says. Louis’ heart is pounding hurriedly inside his chest. He curls up in foetal position, the phone glued to his ear as if he was trying to drown himself into the infinity of Harry’s manly voice. “Just… He was mean to me. Like always. I told him that I’m staying here and I’m working with you—” he explains, stammering. “I… He told me you’re using me for your own profit; that you only care about me because of your music. He said that otherwise you won’t be able to stand my… My mind and the colors— that stuff, you know?” 

He tries to laugh, but his fake laughter breaks at the end and turns into a quiet sob.

Sometimes parents can fuck their kids’ lives so much, Louis thinks.

“Haz, sweetheart, for God’s sake don’t listen to him. Your father is a dickhead, I’d rather die than use you for my personal purposes.” It’s all Louis can say about the topic. Des' opinions don’t even deserve to be discussed by them. “You know how much you mean to me, how much I’d give to see you happy. You hear my voice, Kitten, you know when I’m lying. Fuck, Haz, please don’t listen to him. I— want you, I need you here, and not for personal reasons. Well, yes, for personal reasons, but not… Business. More than… Whatever, please, don’t pay attention to the dickhead of your father.” 

“He’s not that… Mean. I know he’s not bad per se,” Harry whispers and Louis wonders how on earth he can be so sweet. “He’s just… Selfish.”

“You sure?”

“Very,” Harry confirms, emphatic. “And I’m staying here because this is my place. Making music is my thing. But… I don’t know.”

Louis bites his lower lip, nodding in understanding although Harry can’t really see him. “You would want him to be okay with it, I understand. He will, eventually. He’s your father, Haz, give him time.” Louis ignores the ache in his chest as he says it. Parents understand, all fathers do, except Troy. “What you did was very brave, Kitten. I’m happy you are finally clear with things with your life.” 

“Shut up, Lou,” Harry says and Louis can almost sense the smirk on his voice. “You’re the brave one. You told Mark about your fears, that’s bravery.”

“I…” Louis doesn’t know how to reply to that statement because, even when he did it, he didn’t feel really brave. “…Guess so.”

“Yes, Lou. I’m so proud of you.”

“Feeling is mutual,” he answers, rolling over bed until he’s facing the ceiling.

They chat a little more about random things until Louis notices that Harry’s mood has lightened a lot.

“Better now?” Louis speaks softly, as if he was trying to avoid breaking the delicate heart of Harry.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry nods on the other side of the phone. “Your voice always makes it better. I like red.”

Louis chuckles, loving the way Harry presents him a completely new and different world without much of a problem.

“Always red.”

“Always,” Harry whispers just for the mere point of talking. “Like your song. American Rose.”

Louis grins. “It’s not my song, dork. It’s _our_ song. Our American Rose.” 

Harry giggles with that charming laugh of him that’s a blend between a Christmas song, a warm summer breeze and something that Louis can’t define with words. _He loves this boy, so, so much._

“Hey, Lou, do you mind if I go to have a pint with Niall tonight?” Harry asks and Louis is surprised that he’s asking. They’re nothing, Harry has his right to do whatever he wants without asking. The thought hurts a bit; Louis wishes he would have been something, something else, better, so Harry could ask him to go with him and get drunk like a proper _couple_. “He saw me when I was talking with my dad and now he’s insisting that I should go out and clear my mind…”

“Harry, you can do whatever you want,” Louis interrupts him, talking with a roughness unusual in him when he’s speaking with his boy.

_Thing are going great._

_Coming out isn’t that quick._

_Things are going great._

“I know, Lou, but… I just wanted you to know.”

Harry is so committed to Louis, it’s so unfair. Things are going great, Louis keeps repeating; but now is not as good as it was before. Now that he talked to his dad he has no excuses to keep on hiding; his father was clear: he has to _fight_.

“We’re not together,” Louis whispers with a shaky voice as he closes his eyes.

Harry doesn’t answer right away. “I know. I… I like to make sure you’re okay with what I do, anyway. I like to feel that you care.”

“I care. So much, Kitten,” he promises, murmuring. “Go out and have fun. You deserve it.”

“Lou,” Harry stops him before he has a chance to finish the chat. “You know that I don’t mind if you don’t come out soon, right? I haven’t heard the rosewood of your lies with me in so long… That’s enough.” 

Louis doesn’t understand how Harry has developed that odd yet wonderful power of reading his emotions even though he never speaks about them. Harry sees colors when Louis sees nothing, and that means so much to him.

Louis has an urge to touch, to feel him, and it feels painfully far away and the distance is too much.

“Thanks. Have fun, Kitten.”

“Thank you, Lou,” Harry replies. He’s in the record studio, but Louis feels as if he was on another continent. He’s so, so out of his reach. “Gotta go.” 

“Maybe I will go out, too. With Liam,” he adds, and although his mind screams _we’re nothing_ , he feels as if he was asking for permission, he wants to have Harry’s approval.

“Oh, that’s great.” It’s not great and Harry tries to fake his happiness, Louis notices.

“I won’t touch anyone, dumb head,” Louis chuckles, relieving a little of his tension as he sighs. “I’m kind of… Only yours.”

“I know.” Louis _needs_ him, needs him so much. “I love you, Lou. Bye.”

Louis holds his breath as he hears those words, words that Harry has spoken to him so many times before without hesitation, openly expressing his love, a love that has no boundaries.

 

 

Harry is somewhere with Niall drinking beers and being two normal lads as Louis lies on bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. _Two normal lads_ , not like Louis. He wants so badly to be normal, he’s so tired of his lies, and he doesn’t want to be rosewood for Harry anymore.  He sees Harry glowing like the sun and he feels so mortified because he’s probably waiting for Louis. He deserves so much better, he deserves to have the hope of something more than just silent kisses and secret nights of cuddles. 

He grabs his phone and calls Liam without hesitating. He’s going to get so drunk that he forgets his name.

“Louis, lad! What…?”

“It’s Friday night” Louis cuts him. “Let’s go clubbing.”

Liam doesn’t ask too many questions when Louis makes the invitation. He’s glad though, because he doesn’t feel like explaining the piece of crap he’s currently being and how bad it feels. 

Once in the club, Louis doesn’t hesitate in going to the bar and asking for a good shot of whatever the bartender wants to give him. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Liam, who approaches his friend casually.

“This sudden need for alcohol has nothing to do with Harry, right?”

Louis takes the shot and drinks without even asking what it is. The alcohol burns his throat; he shuts his eyes to stop the acid pain burning.

“Come on, Louis,” Liam pushes a little further, sitting next to his friend. “I can pretend we’re drunk, I can pretend I won't remember this conversation tomorrow.”

Liam is staring at Louis with an expression difficult to decode. He isn’t sure if he’s feeling pity for Louis, granted he probably does, but there’s also something more, like the knowledge of being in front of something truly special. 

“I can’t,” Louis whispers and it’s more than what he ever said to someone who wasn’t Harry.

“Harry loves you, Louis,” Liam says as he asks for a beer. “I know you know, but it’s good to remind you. You don’t have any idea how important you are for the kid. Harry is a great person.”

“I know. He’s great, I’m not,” Louis mutters, clawing his nails on the wood bar.

“Don’t talk bullshit. Yes, you are,” Liam corrects him, patting his back. “You’re a really good guy, you just need to get your shit together. And,” he takes Louis’ shotbefore he can drink it, “getting drunk won’t fix things, you know?”

“Fuck you, Liam Payne,” Louis blurts out, annoyed.

He walks away and joins Liam’s girlfriend chatting with some random group of girls that are tipsily happy. Sofia is nice and talks about their record label as if they were producing the Rolling Stones. Louis is quite proud of his label, so when he’s drunk enough he starts babbling about the glory of being in the music business. 

Liam has to force him to shut up because there’s a couple of indie artist trying to catch their attention now; and he insisted that this wasn’t a working night, this was a night to have fun. Louis rolls his eyes, but he shuts up as he isn’t on the mood to face any insistent artist. “Okay, whatever, Liam.”

“Someone is pissed and drunk.”

“I’m none of those things.” 

He picks up a random girl to dance with, dragging her to the middle of the dancefloor. Then he notices the colour of her dress.

 _Red_. No, not red, it’s a shade of something that it’s almost American Rose. 

Thing is, Louis doesn’t know how he did it, _but he did._

He wrote and composed a song that could express his love for Harry and he named it American Rose because he remembered what Harry had said about that special shade of red.

He wasn’t planning to make the song actually sound American Rose.

 _Yet he did._  

The girl is grinding against his crotch, oblivious to the fact that Louis is soft and his sexual stimulation is nonexistent at the moment. He clears his throat and whispers, “I miss him.”

“Sorry?” the girl asks, leaning into so Louis can whisper in her ear.

He’s about to reply, but then he hears the known chords of the upcoming song. Foxes’ voice fills the club as Zedd makes the hearts vibrates with the harmonies. A little dash of pride burst inside Louis’ chest, recalling that they made it, they worked with her. 

Louis stands frozen in the middle of the dance floor, the lyrics from the song swimming in his endless sea of chaotic thoughts. He doesn’t feel the bodies anymore nor he hear the sounds, all he hears is Foxes asking _if our love is tragedy why are you my remedy?_

“My clarity,” Louis whispers as the chorus starts beating on his ears, blinding him for a second as the image of his Harry fills his mind.

“What?” the girls asks again, confused.

Disappointment is all she gets when Louis says, “I miss my boyfriend.”

And yes, _they’re not boyfriends_ , they’re far from it; but he doesn’t care because the pain inside his chest is completely harrowing, it suffocates him. The only remedy is him, his boy, his _Harry_. 

“Are you gay?”

Yes, he is, he’s fucking gay and why does it matter in the first place? It’s so stupid that Louis has to _come out,_ coming out shouldn’t even exist. All sexualities should be the same, it shouldn’t matter if Louis shows up with a girl or with a boy or whoever he falls in love with.

“Yes. Very gay.”

The sounds explode inside his body, sending vibrations all over his muscles. Foxes keeps asking the same question that’s hammering Louis’ mind. _Why is he his remedy?_  

He escapes from the euphoric multitude, trying to find a calmer corner in the club. He takes his phone and calls Harry right away, begging him to come and pick him up. 

His angel of a boy comes for him and Louis loves him, _loves him so much._ Harry rescues Louis from the multitude and guides him to the car, holding him tightly from his waist to stop him from falling.  He doesn’t ask any questions, although Louis knows he wants to ask. The ride back home is silent, Louis holds Harry’s hand so firmly that it probably hurt, but sometimes pain doesn’t even matter. 

“Haz,” Louis asks with a rasping voice as Harry drives. He takes a glance at him and offers him a shy smile.

“Yes, Lou?”

“You’re my clarity.”

And if he’s quoting Foxes, who cares? 

Once they arrive at Louis’ house, they try to be extremely careful when then go upstairs. Louis’ head pounds, Harry suggests he takes a shower to clear a little of his drunken mind. Louis accepts, but he doesn’t make it to the bath before he’s kneeled down in front of the toilet, throwing up all the alcohol he had tried to stuff into his body.

Harry holds him close, caressing his sweaty and greasy hair.

“I love you,” Harry whispers when Louis is done, helping him to stand up and wash his face with cool water. “I hurts so much to see you hurting, Lou.” 

Louis loves Harry so much. Once he’s clean and dressed in fresh clothes, he collapses in his bed. He leaves enough space for Harry to crawl in with him; yet Harry sits in pretzel position and lets Louis rest his head on his lap as he caresses his hair, lulling him to sleep.

“Haz,” Louis mutters, eyes closed. The touch of Harry’s fingertips are soft as a feather against his skin.

“Shh, you need to rest.” 

Louis trusts Harry so much. It’s probably insane, how he’d go to the end of the world if Harry ask him to trust him. He had given him his most personal secret, his rosewood was always their secret.

“I trust you,” Louis says without a point, just for the aim of reassuring their relationship.

“I trust you too, Lou,” Harry says back. “And it’s not because I hear the colour of your voice.”

“No, no, but you don’t understand,” Louis swears stubbornly, and it’s still the alcohol talking. “I don’t want my father to know that I’m… It feels like shit. But you… You always knew and I don’t care.” 

Louis doesn’t open his eyes because he’s not feeling like facing reality and the disappointment in Harry’s face.

“It’s for the better, Lou.”

“No. I feel worse.”

Harry is probably lost for words, because he doesn’t say much until the whispers in a voice that’s barely audible, “I love you. Always.” 

The tiredness won the battle for Louis, he curls up into a ball on Harry’s lap, feeling his body close, warm, and safe against him. Harry rocks him like a baby, humming American Rose, their song, _their little secret._

Bravery is like love, Louis thinks. Both of them have hope as nourishment. Hope for the future, hope for a better chance. 

_Hope._

 

 

The following morning, Harry isn’t there being his little spoon. He’s alone in bed, and even though he finds a lovely note with words of love from Harry, he feels like crying. Hungover as hell and feeling the soreness of his muscles, he changes into fresh clothes and goes downstairs.

Everybody is there.

Jay. Dan. His sisters. 

His family doesn’t know, but they could know at any time. Louis feels exposed, attacked, threatened by Mark. His façade can be broken by one of his words, can be broken if he decides to speak up.

He’s defenseless. 

He sits down at the table as his mother offers him eggs, chatting about school. Fizzy is telling some anecdote that seems to be hilarious for everyone except Louis. 

Louis feels as if he isn’t part of the scene he’s contemplating. He feels like an outsider in his own life; he knows the play is reaching its climax, but he doesn’t feel like he’s the one writing the script.

He can’t predict the future, he’s making blind steps with no clear direction, and he can’t hold Harry’s hand to guide him because he doesn’t know where he’s going in the first place.

He feels so _, so absent._  

His mother turns to him and Lottie makes a joke, everybody laughing except Louis. He wants to laugh, too; but he doesn’t know if he knows his family as well as he thinks he does.

_Fight, son._

_Worthless twink._

Louis closes his eyes, trying to shut down the voices inside his head.

_Fight, son._

Louis is suffocated.

Reality is so overwhelming that it makes it harder to breathe, he wants to try and grasp something, anything in order to survive.

It’s like drowning; it doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to swim, your body will fight against the strength of the water with all its forces, fighting to reach the surface, aching for a little bit of oxygen. 

Louis holds onto the only thing he still has inside his heart, the only thing that has never been a lie: _hope_. A hope that feeds the love he feels for Harry. 

He opens his mouth, his dry tongue doesn’t seem to connect with his brain. He doesn’t feel his hands, his mind is someone else’s, he’s not there, but at the same time, he’s right in his spot, surrounded by a fake life, threatened by his truth. 

“Mum,” he looks at his mother without actually seeing. “I’m gay.” 

Things aren’t getting any better. Actually, they go downhill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jenny for being the guardian angel of this fic.
> 
> It's so sad because now begins the official countdown to the end of this story. I'm so attached to this, I don't want this to end anytime soon!
> 
> This chapter was a turbulent journey. Hope you got to feel the struggle inside Louis and buckle up for the consequences :) Please let me know what you think, what you expect, I want to hear from you <3 Love!
> 
> Next chapter: Louis tries to run away, Harry finds him.
> 
> Songs for this chapter (obviously): [ Clarity - Zedd ft. Foxes ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxxstCcJlsc)


	13. Hold Courage To Your Chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Harry,” he says, eyes locked into each other, forehead pressed together. He’s pretty sure his eyes are speaking already, telling Harry what he already knows. But Louis wants to say it, he needs to say it. He grabs his hands, resting them against his chest, showing him how fast his heart is beating. “This heartbeat is always going to be for you. You, Harry Styles, are the brush that paints my life in colors. My soul is a blank canvas and you’re what makes it come alive. I’m plainly, honestly, eternally in love with you. I love you, Harry Styles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jenny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jenguin/pseuds/jenguin) is always the proofreading angel ♡

Going grocery shopping is one of Harry’s favorite things to do. It’s an annoying chore for most people, but for Harry, grocery shopping means domesticity and he has always looked forward being domestic with Louis.

When he stands in the middle of the cereal section, he smiles, smiles regardless of being with Niall, who’s being all nosy, and regardless of the many housewives and grumpy husbands who are wandering by the place.

“Styles, stop smiling, it makes you look like you’re high.” Niall approaches Harry, dropping two big sized packs of Nutella in the shopping cart. Harry opens his mouth to reply, but Niall stops him, “Don’t tell me ‘I’m high on love’ because I’m not in the studio so the cheesy lyrics don’t work on me.”

Harry burst into laughter, getting some reproving glances for the people around them.

“This is why you’re my friend, Niall Horan.”

“God bless you,” he teases, rolling his eyes.

Harry is really good-humoured that day. After skyping with Gemma to tell her about their father and his recent decision to work for the record label, he had decided to spend the day with Niall since Louis would probably spend the day sleeping, trying to wash away his hangover.

When the night falls upon them, Harry suggests to Niall that he have dinner with Louis and him, and that’s when Harry realizes, he’s doing grocery shopping in the local shop, picking up what he knows Louis wants.

“I feel weird that I’m going to have dinner with Louis,” Niall comments as Harry examines a soup bottle. “I mean, he’s great and all but… He’s still my boss.”

“Lou isn’t the conventional boss,” Harry explains, arching eyebrows. “He likes to treat his people like family.”

“Oh, I know, but… Geez, still my boss.”

Harry giggles as he rolls his eyes in frustration. “Don’t think about that. He’s amazing, you have no idea.”

“You say that because you have a special treatment there,” Niall teases him, winking.

“I do, right?” Harry replies, with a blushing smile.

Harry suddenly remembers that Niall doesn’t know about him and Louis, but it’s too late to take it back. The intern has a smug smile plastered on his face and he doesn’t miss the blush in Harry’s cheeks when they exchange gazes.

“I wasn’t supposed to say that,” Harry whispers, embarrassed.

“Nah, don’t worry,” Niall says, winking at him. “The entire record label suspects you and Louis are… Sort of together. Even Daniela does, who’s pretty much in love with Louis.”

Harry bites his lower lip, playing with his phone in his hands as Niall’s wordssink into him. He loves knowing that other people notice the bond they share.

“Please, don’t say anything, okay?”

“Never, mate, trust me,” Niall promises, stern. “Well, Louis is my boss so I’m not supposed to make assumptions about his sexuality, but even If I could, I can tell he’s struggling with it. I will keep my mouth shut.”

“Yes,” Harry nods, nodding with the head. “Thank, Ni. You’re a good kid.”

They head off to the cashier register when Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He picks it up, hoping to find a text from Louis since he hasn’t heard from him the whole day, but he finds Jay’s name instead.

 

**Harry dear, please come home. Jay xxx**

 

Harry’s brain doesn’t react right away. He hangs in subspace, reading those words over and over again until he realizes that nothing about this is good. Actually, it sounds bad.

“Niall, do you mind if we leave our dinner for another day?” he asks and apparently his expression couldn’t be anymore frightened, since Niall’s face drops dead serious.

“Something bad happened, H?”

Harry glances at the phone screen. “I’m not sure.”

Harry leaves the shop as fast as he can, stowing everything in the car trunk without really caring for its safety (he should, because it’s Louis’ car and he always complains if it’s dirty, but well). When he arrives at home, he doesn’t even take the things out of the car, he parks it and walks into the house. He knows it’s a big deal because Jay never texts anyone except in an emergency. And considering how drunk Louis was last night, Harry falls into a panic.

“Jay?” he asks, hesitant, walking into the house.

Jay, who’s waiting for him in the living room, turns to him with her eyes splotchy and red from the crying, Harry feels his blood turn into ice.

“Darling, Harry, thank God you’re here!” Jay doesn’t hesitate when she goes straight to Harry and hugs him with the love only a mother can give to a son. The fear in her voice is impossible to hide, it’s a saturated shade of pink mixed with the dry sounds of the tears falling.  "Thank you for coming."

“No thanks necessary, Jay. What happened?” Harry asks, resting a comforting hand on her back. The obvious color scheme of sadness sends chills down his back, the harsh sensation inside his stomach won’t go away. He has a fair idea of what could have happened, but the single thought causes him chills.

“Harry, sweetheart,” she whispers, leaning back to face the boy. Harry can tell she has been crying for a long time now by her shaky breaths, her bloodshot eyes and the bag under her eyes. “Louis— my son..." she hiccups as she talks, devastated. "He told us.”

Harry raises his eyes up, choking on his saliva. He felt as if he got ice running through his veins. He’s so shocked that Jay spats him on his back in a confronting motion.

Louis told her. _Told her_. He actually had the bravery to face his mother and tell her the truth.

“Told you?” he asks, face blank as a stone, feeling his rapid thumping inside his chest.

“Harry, I always knew!” Jay breaks into desperate tears that she tries really hard to control with no success. Harry pats her back tenderly, trying to be comforting. “Do you think I didn’t notice the way he looks at you? I’m his mother, of course I always knew! I don’t understand,” she sobs, distressed as only a mother can be. Harry is lost for words, he hadn’t expected this to happen so _soon_. “I don’t understand, Harry. I’ll always love him. We never really show any kind of homophobia… Or that’s what I believe. I mean, I know you’re gay too, dear, and I don’t care. I’d care even less coming from Louis. Oh my God, Harry, I’m so sorry for this mess.”

“He…” Harry gulps, tentative. “Has he told you everything?”

Jay frowns, confused. “I… I think so,” she nods, wiping her running nose with a shaking hand.

Harry bites his bottom lip, trying to handle his extreme anxiety. It’s clear as water that Jay is losing her mind right now, her colors of strength make it obvious, and so Harry tries to help her to stand. He leads her to the couch, where the woman collapses helplessly as she keeps crying.

“I’m going to make some tea,” Harry offers.

It’s not like Harry isn’t dying to find Louis, to hold him in his arms; but he knows Jay is important to him, too, so he tries to be good for her. Lottie appears on the room and goes to sit next to her mother, silent.

Once Harry is done with the tea, he sits next to Jay, who accepts the cuppa, still a little unstable. Lottie doesn’t stop caressing her shoulder, palpably concerned.

“Mum, calm down, please.” Lottie looks at Harry, asking for help. Harry offers her a weak smile, smile she doesn't reciprocate.

“Where is he?” Harry asks the question that has been hammering his mind. He needs Louis now, he needs to see him, to reassure him that everything is fine, that he’s brave. He needs to tell him how proud he is of him. “Where’s Louis, Jay?”

“He,” she sniffs, raising her head to look at Harry’s worried eyes. “He went away. I don’t know where, I couldn’t even… Speak. I hoped he would come back sooner, but it’s nighttime and he hasn’t appeared yet. I’m so scared for him, dear.”

“He didn’t even give Mum the time to say something,” Lottie explains, looking at Harry as if he was the only person in the world who could save her brother from falling. If Harry wasn’t so desperate, he would have been proud of the look on Lottie’s face. “Which is so dumb, because we don’t really care if he’s gay.”

“It’s…” Harry growls, glancing at the floor. Louis always does it, he chooses to close like a hermetic box in order to stop the hurting.

“I didn’t even have time to explain!” Jay exclaims, her voice shaking with fear and, maybe, something like guilt. Guilt she isn’t supposed to feel, Harry thinks, but right now he’s not up to comfort her. “Harry, I love my son and I want him to know, but…”

“It’s okay, please, don't worry. I… God, I know it's hard.” His drumming heart is trying to make a hole inside his chest, there’s nothing in him working right. “Jay, he’s scared. He’s so convinced he’s not enough, that he’s a failure.”

“Why?!” Jay asks brokenly, unable to believe that she has failed as mother this much. “I’d never hate him, Harry. He’s my son!”

Harry doesn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts. He knows Louis didn’t tell her everything and he can’t understand why. The most important thing is missing, Jay would never be able to understand if he doesn’t speak out.

And maybe it’s shame, or pity; of simply it’s that circumstances overcome Louis and he can’t simply talk about it. And maybe Harry shouldn’t be talking about this, but he’s so worried, and worry makes you stupid, and…

“It’s Troy." He finally decides to speak out for the sake of Louis' mind. "Louis heard him.”

The truth falls upon them like a cold shower. Jay frowns at first, a little confused, but then the memories arise inside her mind and her eyes widen, shocked. Lottie, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to understand as she probably doesn’t know.

“Troy? Louis’ father?” Harry nods with his head, tense. “Oh my God, Harry, how do you know? Why did… How?”

Harry doesn’t really feel like explaining, not right now. He just wants to find Louis and kiss him, calm him, tell him that he’s fine and he’s so, _so_ _proud of him._ Jay is crying harder in front of him and Lottie, although she doesn’t understand a thing, comforts her mother.

“He shouldn’t have heard,” Jay manages to whisper between tears of impotence. Lottie glances at Harry, demanding and explanation, but Harry only shrugs as an answer.

“Louis has been dealing with that for a long time now,” Harry explains, sitting on the edge of the couch, holding Jay’s gaze. “I’m the only one who knew because I’m the only one who hears his voice changing colors.”

“What?” Lottie asks, even more confused, and Jay shushes her with a glance.

Jay slides along the couch, trying to reach for Harry’s hand. She holds them only like a mother could. It sends chills down Harry’s back, who isn’t used to it, whose feelings are a crazy ball of nerves and fear inside.

“Harry, please,” Jay says in a croaky voice. “Louis is wonderful. Please, make him see that. Make him understand how amazing he is.”

Harry isn’t planning on doing anything else.

“I love your son, Jay,” he speaks with a knob in his throat, but firm. “With everything that I am. He’s been my number one priority since the first day.”

Jay nods, understanding. Harry is pretty sure she has always known about it but she smiles at the truthful words Harry speaks, he knows she does.

“Okay, my brother is gay, you love him and you also hear… His voice color?,” Lottie repeats, trying to make it logical inside his head. “It’s too much for one day!”

Jay chuckles, rolling her eyes. Harry squeezes her hands and lets her go, reaching for his cellphone as he tries to guess where Louis could be hiding.

“Do you have any idea where he could have gone?” Jay asks, hesitant. “You had his car, so he couldn’t have gone too far.”

“We’re talking about Louis,” Lottie mutters under her breath.

Harry scrolls down his contact list, searching for Louis’. He types a quick message he knows he won’t reply, but it doesn’t really matter. He has a fair idea where he could have gone.

“I think I know where he could have gone,” Harry says, locking his phone. “Do you mind if I go to look for him? I’d rather do it… Alone.”

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but he really needs to do this on his own. Louis must be scared, vulnerable, and Harry wants to be the one holding him.

“No, please, go!” Jay exclaims, giving him an encouraging pat on his pack. “My son needs you. And please… Please tell him how much I love him. How much this family loves him, no matter with whom he falls in love.”

 

 

 

 

 

Harry arrives at the record label as the night sky raises above him, draping the city in a gloomy, dark atmosphere that seems to fit perfectly with the moment.

He doesn’t need to call Louis to know where he is. He knows the boy probably better than he knows himself, he knows him so well that it probably should be scary, but it doesn’t scare Harry.

He texts him asking him to open the doors for him, Louis doesn’t reply, but Harry knows he got it when he walks into the label and all the doors are open for him.

The record label is lonely and silent when he opens the door. The insides are calm and dark, the usual rush and happiness from the weekdays missing, making everything extremely… _Delicate_.

Harry feels as if the moment could break into millions of pieces, just like a faint piece of glass. The silence is dark blue, like the ocean, a silent and wide ocean with no visible end.

“Lou?”

His voice echoes in the empty rooms from the label, filling every corner and repeating like an automatic voice that answers the same he’s asking, splashing the blue with shades of champagne. Harry doesn’t move, his heart pounding.

There’s silence for a little more, and then a broken, red coloured voice answers from somewhere.

“Haz?”

Harry’s heart clenches as he hears the raspberry shade of Louis’ voice, the color that pleads, not always for the right reasons. Right now, he’s pleading _love_ , acceptance.

“It’s me, pretty. Where are you?” 

Louis emerges from the darkness in the middle of the room, flushed and looking a little messy, which doesn’t fail to make him absolutely cuddly. Harry wants to reach out and wrap him with his arms, kiss his pain away and have his body warm against his.

“Louis,” Harry sighs when he sees him, relief obvious on his tone.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Louis whispers with a raspy, merlot voice. His voice has the color of the wine; fruity and strong in its base. It’s hard to explain, Harry thinks, because it’s a color that it expresses shame, but also— Sweetness. “The studio is… Kind of my place.”

“I know. That’s why I came here,” Harry nods in understanding. He opens his arms, inviting, wanting to feel Louis as close as he can. “Want a cuddle?”

“Please.”

Louis doesn’t hesitate when Harry asks, he walks towards him and falls into his arms. Harry hugs him tightly, kissing the top of his head and burying his nose in his soft hair, inhaling that special scent of Louis. He squeezes Louis in his arms, as if he was trying to melt into one, to glue their bodies so they could easily feel what the other is feeling.

“I’m here, beautiful,” Harry whispers, leaning back to look at Louis’ splotchy eyes. “Shh, it’s okay. Everything is okay.” He kisses his forehead, making him shudder.

“Haz,” Louis whispers brokenly, gripping Harry’s silk shirt with one of his tiny hands, his eyes shut.

“Hey Lou, don’t be sad,” Harry coos, caressing Louis’ back with his hand in a loving, reassuring motion. “I know you talked with you mum, it was so brave. I’m so proud of you, you know that? I love you.”

Louis muffles a snob, hiding his face on the crook of his neck.

Harry's body quivers when he sees Louis hurting. From day one, he has always wanted to take care of Louis, to make him feel loved and cared for. Even knowing that Louis didn't want to accept his sexuality, Harry fell in love; he fell in love with the soul of a Louis Tomlinson that nobody apart from him could see.

_A vulnerable, red Louis._

“Let’s sit on the couch, shall we?”

“Okay.” Louis nods shyly as he steps back, but without wanting to feel the lack of contact with Harry, he quickly links their hands. The younger boy smiles at the simple act, pleased, and holds his hand firmly.

Harry leads Louis to the couch in the main room, where the windows are wide and the lights from outside passes through the glass and illuminates the blackness in the room.

“Lou,” he says as Louis cuddles against him, still holding his hand. Harry glides his fingertips by the sharp lines of Louis’ cheekbones, admiring how beautiful, how angelic he looks. “What you did was so, so brave.” Louis is staring without seeing, his mind lost in translation. “Your mum was so worried when I arrived at home, Lottie was there too. She loves you so much, Lou. I know you didn’t tell her about Troy, why did you choose that?” Louis looks up at him, resiliently. “I know it was your decision and I respect it, but... Lou, you need to speak about it. I..." he swallows hard before continuing, scared of Louis' reaction. "I told her.”

Louis snorts bitterly at the comment, speaking with a hoarse voice, cracked because of the hours of crying. “That's okay, Haz. I didn’t want her to feel pity for me, that's why I didn't tell her. Her loathing is enough.”

“Loathing?” Harry repeats, frowning. “Louis, your mother doesn’t… God, she loves you like crazy, it’s obvious by the way she worries for you and your happiness. Why do you think that?”

Louis untangles himself from Harry, settling on the couch without giving much explanation. At the sudden loss of his warm, Harry feels colder, tinier and vulnerable like a small daisy in the middle of an endless field.

“Lou…” he whispers, trying to reach for him.

Louis doesn’t let him, crossing his arms against his chest. “It’s the truth, Harry. I’m such a fiasco.”

The older boy just stares, his eyes dull and inexpressive, trying to suppress all the emotions from his gaze. “Don't do that,” Harry pleads. Louis isn’t really sure what he’s referring to. “Please, Lou, don’t think such awful things about yourself. You’re far from being a fiasco, nobody thinks that about you. You don’t realise, but it’s insane the amount of light, happiness and positivity you bring into people’s lives. That’s amazing, Lou, and it doesn’t matter at all about your sexuality.”

Louis doesn’t answer, eyes staring at the floor he’s probably not seeing.

“I’m sorry.”

He speaks hoarsely and slowly, a shade of red Harry’s never heard before. It's so dark that it confuses him, darker than the color of the wine. Harry gasps, scared for what's about to come.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Louis. Please, talk to me. I want to help you.”

“I don’t… Need help,” Louis says, his words croaky. “I just… Need to cry. That’s all.”

Louis speaks as he never did before. _Dark, sharp and dull_. Harry hates the sound, hates how a cloud of pure blackness wraps him and sends him to an abyss of desperation that he doesn't want to feel anymore.

Harry’s breathing gets caught in his throat and suddenly there's no red anymore, there's only black.

“Lou….” Harry pleads, but Louis doesn't notice. 

“I'm the shittiest person you could have met, Harry, can’t you see it? I deserve pain, not your love.”

“Louis, don't say that,” Harry asks, trying to control the urge to cry. Louis is too busy hating himself to notice it. “You’re not shitty. You’re just…”

“No, Harry, stop excusing me for everything I do,” he cuts him off, dead serious. “I'm fucked up. That's the plain truth. You told me you loved me and I let it go to waste. You came back and—I don’t know. Just— I told my mom, but… I couldn’t even listen to what she… Fuck, Harry, I don’t even want to face the real world anymore. I want to be hidden here, forever. You don’t deserve this shit, you deserve so much better.”

“I love you,” Harry stutters, desperate to show him how much it's hurting. He loves him so much that it's insane and impossible to describe, loves him so much that he already forgave him. “I don't care. Just tell me what we have means something.”

“You know it does,” Louis assures, sharp. “It means the world, Harry, it’s the best thing I have in this fucked up life of mine. It doesn't mean I should be forgiven. You shouldn't forgive me. I’m too weak, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to handle this.”

“I forgave you the day we met,” Harry whispers, leaning forward to intertwine their hands. Louis lets him, and Harry feels way much safer when he's holding him. “You're not hurting me with this. The only one who's hurting is you, Lou. I wish you could see that.”

“Harry, don’t you remember? I fucking rejected you,” Louis desperately tries to make Harry understand how unworthy he is of his love. He wants Harry to open his eyes. “I can’t even face the fact that I fucking like cock! Harry, you loved me!”

“Don’t say that,” Harry tears up a bit and talks with a weak voice. “Don’t say ‘loved’. I still do, with everything I am.”

“See?!” Louis growls in frustration. “Why the fuck do you do that? Why do you love me so fucking… plainly? I can’t fucking accept the fact that I like dick, why would you choose me?”

They’re both crying now. Harry, from _fear_ ; Louis from _frustration_.

Harry is snuggled on the couch, hugging his flexed legs, with his wide green eyes full of tears and inflated for the many times that he has rubbed them. He’s the image of a scared little kitten.

“Don’t scream, please,” Harry sobs, his voice so slow that it’s barely audible. Yet Louis hears, he always hears him. “Please. Your voice… I don’t like it dark red. Please, Lou.”

Louis has never forgotten how sensitive Harry is before. As soon as the desperate words of his boy hit his brain, he lowers his voice tone immediately. His self-loathing has blinded him in a level where he even forgot about what’s most important for him, Harry. Of course, Louis’ voice has been the only one who never turned black when he screamed. Yet now, he’s afraid of his mahogany.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis apologises immediately, sitting next to Harry. His tiny hands look for his hands quickly, trying to hold him from drowning. Harry interlaces his fingers forcibly, asking him to stay. Louis will stay; forever, if it’s necessary. “Is this okay, kitten? Can you hear my voice changing?”

“Y—yes,” Harry stutters, his tears choking his voice. “Keep talking. Please.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot about your synesthesia. I’m so fucking dumb.”

“Still too dark,” Harry whispers, breathing gaspingly. Louis enters in a state of alarm, scared about the boy’s over-sensitivity. Harry doesn’t do well when he’s really scared, that’s for sure.

“Baby, please, calm down, okay?” Louis pleads, desperate to make it better, to turn it into a shade of red Harry likes. “I’m here. I’m sorry that I yelled at you. I just…” _God, Louis has already gone through this_. He doesn’t want to repeat it, he doesn’t want to make it worse. Harry is too delicate to cope with another heartbreak from the same person and even if he was able to handle it, he doesn’t deserve a hint of that pain. “I’m so sorry, Haz. I’m so sorry that I was so mean to you; I’m so sorry that I’m such a weak person and can’t even accept the fact that I love dick in my arse.  I’m sorry for everything I have done to you. I’m just… So sorry.” Harry hiccups, wiping the fat tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“That’s okay,” Harry nods. He’s curled up into a ball and he looks delightful, Louis thinks, despite his red cheeks and his inflated eyes.

“No, that’s not okay. This is the problem, Haz, for you it’s always okay.” He’s mad now. Not mad at Harry, mad at himself.

Mad because he always throws the heaviest weight on Harry’s back and avoids carrying it himself. He’s mad that he can’t accept the fact that he’s completely, absolutely, plainly in love with Harry, who happens to be a male.

He’s about to raise his voice tone again, but Harry’s body shudders with fear, which makes him soften his tone. “It should never be okay because you don’t deserve this. You have loved me since day one and I don’t understand why, Haz because despite knowing that the feeling is— ” He swallows the lump in his throat before word-vomiting the truth. “The feeling is mutual, I treat you like trash.”

“You don’t treat me like trash, Lou,” Harry quickly adds and the way his face lights up when Louis admits the feeling is mutual is too damn obvious to pass unnoticed. “You… You accept me. You make me feel complete, you introduced me to the label, and you gave me something to fight for. If I had given up on you the first time you told me you were straight, knowing exactly when you lie, it wouldn’t have meant that I loved you. Love means fighting, Lou, and I’m fighting this battle with you.”

“Battle?” Louis whispers, his eyes blurring with the tears he’s no longer trying to contain.

He knows what battle Harry is talking about. What Louis did to deserve someone like Harry, he will never know.

“The battle for your self-acceptance. You,” he shifts closer to Louis, looking him into his eyes. Louis holds his gaze. “Are,” he’s even closer now. Louis knows he’s trying to kiss him. He won’t stop him, never again. “Beautiful. No matter with whom you choose to fall in love.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers, feeling the brush of their lips against each other. His eyes flutter shut, his heart beating loudly. He’s sure the entire city can hear his heartbeats. For now, he doesn’t really care, as long as those beats are for Harry.

“I’m so proud for what you did today, Lou,” Harry repeats for the thousandth time. "You mean so much."

“I did it for you,” Louis replies with a tiny nervous voice.

Harry smiles sweetly and kisses his cheek. “Thank you, but this has to be for you. Everybody deserves the chance to be themselves. You deserved that chance, and you took it.”

That does it for Louis. This boy has _always_ been there for him, and suddenly he doesn’t know the right words to express his feelings.

_Except he does._

He really does, he knows what to say. He has given everything, he has kicked his wall of lies down. There’s nothing stopping him from being completely honest with Harry, for speaking what he had known since the day he understood why the days were brighter when he was with Harry and why his body felt instantly better when he was wrapped on his arms.

They’re the words he has kept inside his heart, refusing to speak them, given that they love kept being a secret, covered by lies. He wanted to say them with freedom, saying them out loud, _for everyone to hear._

He didn’t want them to be caught up in his web of lies.

Now… Right now he’s _free._

“Harry,” he says, eyes locked into each other, forehead pressed together. He’s pretty sure his eyes are speaking already, telling Harry what he already knows. But Louis wants to say it, he needs to say it. He grabs his hands, resting them against his chest, showing him how fast his heart is beating. “This heartbeat is always going to be for you. You are the brush that paints my life in colors. My soul is a blank canvas and you’re what makes it come alive. I’m plainly, honestly, eternally in love with you. I love you, Harry Styles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My birthday is in 12 days so it’s very likely that this story will end the day of my bday *starts sobbing* I'm so attached to this, I don't want it to end, but at the same time, I want H&L to have their happy ending ♡ *:･ﾟ✧ Thank you so much for every soul who reads this story. I love you so much.
> 
> This chapter was originally longer, but I split it in two because the upcoming deserves to be one separate chapter. As always, feedback is very much appreciate ❤
> 
> Song for this chapter: [ No Angels by Bastille ft. Ella Eyre ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ii6l3JbD2fY)
> 
> Next: Harry and Louis want to feel each other until they're breathless, sweaty, drowning in their passion, silently gasping each other's name.


	14. Melting Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Haz, we’re in the studio. We’re—”
> 
> “Alone,” Harry cuts him as his hand roams over his chest, sneaking under his shirt. His cold fingertips press against Louis’ skin, provoking a soft moan. “Your little sisters are at home. I— God, Lou, I don’t want you to be quiet. I want to hear you. I need— Fuck, I want to hear the colour of your moans.”

_He’s waiting for the gunshot._

Louis closes his eyes, cringing as he shrugs in a silly attempt to protect himself from whatever is coming.

_Worthless._

_Twink._

The voices inside his head. Louis’ body trembles in fear as he waits for them, he waits for Troy. But then there’s another voice, a soft, caring voice that stops anything else from speaking.

“I love you too, Louis.”

Louis had spoken his words waiting for a bullet, right into his heart. He spoke those words hesitantly, knowing that all his perfectly-built life could crumble down in that moment that he finally, for the very first time, accepts the fact that he’s in love with another man.

Yet the only thing that really happens is that a pair of soft, tender lips press against his. His confession is followed by the strong arms of Harry wrapping around his waist, demanding closeness. Louis accedes to give him what he wants, sitting on his lap. He lolls his head to one side, opening his mouth to gasp with need, letting Harry suck into his mouth as if oxygen wasn’t necessary for them.

They’re desperate, needy, they’re in love. They have always been.

“You mean it?” Harry asks shyly.

“Harry, of course I mean it. I love you so much, Kitten. You are my one and only,” he speaks, his words sounding hesitant, tears prickling his eyes. This time, they aren’t sad tears, they’re tears of liberty. “I just… Fuck, I look at you and I wonder why, why do you love me so much when I’m such a… Burden. You’re incredible. Fucking amazing, and I love you so much that sometimes it aches, you know? My fucking chest aches.”

“Mine too,” Harry whispers, holding him tightly.

“At the end of the day, when I’m with you, the pain fades away,” Louis whispers, finally giving up. “At the end of the day, the only thing I want to do, is to live the rest of my life with you by my side. I love you. Forever.”

Harry closes the distance between them, joining their lips in a sloppy kiss. They feed each other with enthusiasm, as Harry sucks on Louis’ tongue with eagerness.

Louis lets the taste of Harry intoxicate his senses; discovering the way his body reacts to every single caress, every bite, every kiss Harry gives him, turning his mind blank and empty of any other thoughts except him.

“Mmm,” Harry gasps, breaking the kiss. He sits up on the couch, silent, and Louis pretends he doesn't notice the bulge in Harry's pants because, well, he already has trouble with his own.

“Harry.” His voice comes off like a tiny needy whimper; Harry leans into him, looking for his lips as a thirsty man looks for water. Louis knows, he knows what his boy is looking for because it’s the exact thing he wants to give him.

Harry’s hand climbs up his chest, clutching his chin and forcing him to deepen the kiss, frantically trying to catch every little drop of him.

“Please,” Louis whimpers. As he speaks the words into their heated kiss, his crotch tightening as chills run up his spine. “I want you to make me yours.”

Louis knows what he's asking for. He wants it, after all this time. He wants it so bad that he has trouble breathing and thinking.

“Lou. You— you sure?” Harry asks shyly. He breaks the kiss to look at him in the eyes, fixing a lock of his hair behind his ear.

“Yes,” Louis nods. His mind is going insane, he has lived without having Harry so long, imagining him, picturing his boy fucking him that he can’t (and doesn’t want) to think about anything else right now. “But… Wait.” He stops Harry even though the boy isn’t doing anything except staring. “I’ve... Never done it. With,” he swallows his words, so scared of saying it out loud. He’s not scared of what’s about to happen, he’s scared about what it means.

“You have never been with a man,” Harry finishes for him. Louis closes his eyes, terrified, trying to relax as Harry kisses the lines of his jaw. “That's okay. I’m glad to be your first,” he whispers, his voice seeping into Louis’ body, having an incredible soothing effect over his tense muscles. He kisses him briefly on the lips before adding, “I also want to be your only.”

“Haz, we’re in the studio. We’re—”

“Alone,” Harry cuts him as his hand roams over his chest, sneaking under his shirt. His cold fingertips press against Louis’ skin, provoking a soft moan. “Your little sisters are at home. I— God, Lou, I don’t want you to be quiet. I want to hear you. I need— Fuck, I want to hear the colour of your moans.”

As he says it, his fingers pinch one of his nipples, tearing Louis’ sanity apart completely.

“Kitten,” Louis whimpers, closing his eyes, receiving the kiss Harry is about to give him.

Louis wants to ask Harry to take him, to make him his. Yet it's not that easy, he has barely accepted the fact that he might enjoy kissing another male.

But— Harry hears his colours. Harry already knows how much Louis loves him even though he can’t properly talk about it. The colours have always been their little secret, their silent way of knowing each other.

_They’re the colours._

“Don't be afraid,” Harry coos, taking Louis' hand, locking their fingers together. Louis gasps at the sudden loss of his touch against his skin, but when he feels their fingers linked together, he doesn’t complain. “I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you, Lou.”

It’s ridiculous how fast his heart is beating, how much Harry makes him a ball of nerves.

“I know that, Haz,” Louis nods, biting his lower lip. “I... Just...”

“I know,” Harry nods, drawing Louis down on the couch. Louis loves him; he can feel the love even in his toes. “The colour of your voice speaks for you.”

Louis is drowning in his own fears, so he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath in order to speak.

“Am I worthy, Haz?”

If Harry finds the question a little odd, he doesn't comment on that. “Of course, Lou. You are worth all the bright and beautiful things in life.” He kisses him sweetly. “Let me make you feel good, can I?”

Harry's fingertip slides down Louis' torso, gripping his shirt to take it off. Louis lets him undress his body, exposing his skin, body and soul to him. Louis has never been in this position before, self-conscious of his own nakedness to the point of embarrassment.

“Love your muscular thighs.” Harry scatters little kisses all over Louis' thighs, making him gasp with need.

“Haz, please,” Louis begs with a choked voice, humiliated. He never had much of a problem with being naked, but right now he’s vulnerable. “Undress yourself. Please.”

“God,” Harry gasps, leaning into kiss Louis while his hands unbutton his shirt. “Your voice, Lou. It's... So obscene.”

“Stop praising God, you, sinner,” Louis teases him, trying to relax the mood.

Harry smirks, winking in complicity as he gets undressed, letting Louis eat him alive with his eyes. Harry is so tempting, better than anyone he knows, honestly speaking; Louis understands why he fell so hard for him.

Nobody stands a chance when it comes to someone as stunning and perfect as Harry Styles. And now, he’s lucky enough to call him his.

“Have you ever fingered yourself, Pretty?” Harry asks as his hands slowly glide by the soft skin of his bum.

Louis feels so small, so defenseless while lying on the couch in the middle of his studio, illuminated by the lights of Liverpool. And Harry is there, staring at him with hungry eyes, devouring him with his gaze.

He's so embarrassed and so horny at the same time that he isn’t sure what he wants to do; hide under his bed forever or let Harry fuck him into unconsciousness.

“No,” Louis denies, trying to sound firm in his answer. “I never… Did that.”

Lies.

“Rosewood, Louis.”

Of course, Harry can’t be lied to. Even his most secret confession, even his darkest and most embarrassing secret is exposed to him.

“Yeah,” he finally gives up, feeling the shame taking control of every bit of his body. He’s suddenly dismayed; he wishes he hadn’t done it. It proves how needy he was for Harry, how helpless he is to his sexual arousal. “Fuck, yes, so many times. Thinking about you.”

He lolls his head to one side, trying to hide his face on the pillow, but Harry rests a finger beneath his chin to stop him from evading.

“I did the same,” Harry speaks sweetly, understanding. He catches Louis before he falls, always. “It’s perfectly fine.” He praises. Louis gasps, unable to say anything else. He lets Harry kiss him deeply, keeping his eyes shut. He’s behaving like a three year old, but he doesn’t have the will to care. “It’s better, it won’t hurt that much. Lou,” his voice is a little rougher at the end. “Please, look at me, Gorgeous.”

Louis doesn’t want to face Harry because he’s scared of what he might find in his eyes. Yet when he opens his eyes, only love and fondness are written in Harry’s green ones. It makes him a little less insecure because there’s no way in this life that this boy could look at him with disgust.

“Kitten,” he whispers and the simple pet name is a thank you, as well as a please.

“I want you so bad, Lou,” Harry whispers. His lustful fingers draw the lines of Louis’ neck, pressing a little on the place where he decides to suck a bruise, marking him his. Louis lets out a little moan, opening his mouth. Harry reaches out his fingers, greedy. “Suck them, baby.”

Harry's words burn a flame inside Louis, who whimpers with need and babbles incoherently, begging his boy to give him something, anything. He likes this, likes to feel the closeness between them, to feel Harry’s body against his.

He can’t even think how embarrassing he’s being, so desperate he is for sex. He opens his mouth to take Harry’s fingers eagerly, sucking them as if they were a tasty lollipop, soaking them with his saliva. He knows Harry is getting hard with it, and he loves it. “Please,” he begs as Harry takes out his fingers.

“How bad do you want it?” Harry asks, teasing, always teasing. He spreads Louis’ legs to each side, settling in the middle. His fingertips travel by his lower belly, reaching his lowest area.  

Harry traces circles on the crease at the base of the dick, Louis responds with a whimper, silently pleading more.

“Answer me,” Harry orders, a little bossy. He wraps both hands around Louis' cock with a firm grip, then he glides one hand up and over the head. He starts jerking Louis's dick with a firm rhythm, as he asks, "How bad do you want it?"

Louis doesn't know where he finds the energy to respond. “So bad.”

Harry puts an open mouth kiss on Louis’ chest as the older boy begs, desperate.

"Want you to come for me," Harry gasps as his hands rub Louis faster. "Then I'm going to fuck you so good."

"Ha-Harry," Louis whimpers, Harry grips his dick tight, brushing his head with his thumb. His orgasm is  building up on his belly, blinding him.

Louis comes in Harry's hand with a cry of his name, his orgasm leaving him breathless.

"I love you," Harry whispers, pressing their lips in a kiss that's not meant to be passionate, but soft and gentle. "You're so beautiful when you come."

Louis can't think straight, still high on his emotions and aching to be fucked.

“Lube?” He asks in a tiny voice, the only thing he manages to say.

“Got it.”

Louis glances at Harry with glassy eyes, amazed that the dirty bastard carries with him a bottle of lube, but so grateful for it.

“Don’t look at me like that, Baby,” Harry whispers, leaning down to join their mouths in a heated kiss. He nibbles Louis’ lower lip teasingly, only increasing his keenness. “The night we first kissed you were so eager to make it. I needed this, I needed to be ready.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Louis whines, voice rough. Harry smirks at him in delight, nodding.

“Yes, I know, and I’m proud. I packed a blanket and some stuff we would find helpful before coming here, too.”

Louis raises his head up to kiss him again, but Harry doesn’t kiss him, finding endearing the lines of his collarbones, following them with the tip of his fingers.  “You just drive me insanely crazy, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis whines quietly, a little annoyed for not getting the kiss he wanted. “Same goes for you, Harry Styles.”

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning. The green on his eyes has turned darker, a glimpse of lust obvious in them.

Louis sobs, eyes fluttering shut as he enjoys the way Harry’s tongue dances around his burning skin. “I’m yours. So yours, Haz.”

“You are,” Harry nods staring at Louis with so much strength in his gaze that it sends shivers down Louis’ back. “You were mine since the very first day I heard your red.”

Harry is chatty in bed, an every word makes Louis’ neediness increase and he wants Harry to wreck him right there and make him his forever.

“Harry, I need this,” he confesses, burying his face in the pillow. Harry leans down to take his lower lip between his teeth, biting a little as he rubs his crotch against Louis’ hard cock, making him gasp. “God, I want you so bad.”

Louis is scared, but at the same time he feels his body and arse burning with the fucking need to have Harry inside. It’s driving him crazy.

They kiss some more, eagerly sucking each other’s lips as their gasps get lost into their mouths, and Louis feels his crotch tightening again with every touch, every noise Harry makes.

“I’m going to make you mine,” Harry says as he stands up, depriving Louis of his body warmth. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, Louis.” He kisses him one more time, harder this time, and when Louis opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, Harry breaks it, teasing.

The younger boy goes straight to his bag that he left forgotten next to the door. Louis follows him with his gaze, admiring the way Harry’s skin is milky white and the lights of Liverpool night flash along his body to create a picture-perfect view.

“You’re gorgeous, Haz.”

He smirks without making eye contact with him, grabbing the small bottle of lube, as he comes back to Louis’ arms. “Look who’s talking.”

Louis’ heart does a little jump as Harry kisses him. The younger boy starts putting open mouth kisses all along his chest, lubricating his long fingers. He makes sure they’re soaked enough for Louis to hurt as little as possible, making it easier.

He stops giving Louis’ mouth attention and focuses on his thighs, sliding his cold, wet fingers by them.

“Spread your legs a little more, Pretty.”

Louis obeys, spreading his legs to either side to give Harry full access. The younger boy runs a finger until he places it on Louis's rim without pushing forward. The mere contact sends pins and needles all over his body; he clutches his arse cheeks in desperate need to get those fingers inside him.

Harry finally slides the tip of them past Louis’ arse rim. Louis doesn't react, frozen until Harry adds another finger and starts curling them inside him. It sends flames up to Louis’ belly, finally liberating the arousal he held inside.

It does it for Louis. The first intrusion starts become less like an odd sensation and more like a pleasing thing. Harry knows how to do it, opening Louis up slowly, but firm. When Harry hits his prostate, Louis can’t help but moan like an animal. He’s hard, harder than he had ever been with any girl.

“So pretty,” Harry chuckles, kissing Louis' chest.

He didn't know what he was missing. Either Harry is fucking great with his hands or gay sex is the best sex in the world. Probably both.

“Haz, more,” he begs without shame, gasping for air. He opens his eyes just to look at the lust written on Harry’s face, a face that’s usually so innocent and pure.

Right now nothing is innocent about Harry and Louis loves it.

“You're so tight, Lou,” Harry says in a husky voice as he adds a third finger, catching Louis’ mouth on his. “Fuck, I bet you’re gonna feel so good.”

“Need you,” Louis whimpers into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut.

He feels Harry’s hands teasing him, working up inside him and hitting his prostate. Louis’s mind turns completely blank; he opens his mouth in a silent cry of pleasure and finally moans his lover’s name embarrassingly loudly.

“Oh my God, your voice,” Harry whimpers, pressing Louis’ prostate again just for the pleasure of hearing him. “Louis, how do you do it?”

Louis doesn’t have the forces to reply, too sunken in the pleasure Harry is giving to him. He gasps his name, anyway, trying to answer something logically (which he can’t, of course).

“Baby,” Harry says, gasping Louis’ hips. His puffy lips are reddish and so wet with Louis’ saliva. “Your voice. So many,” Harry’s free hand palms his hard dick while the second grips Louis’ arm, his arse forgotten. “Colours. Fuck.”

“I want—” Louis gasps “Want you. Fuck me, Harry.”

Harry smirks, so delighted with his plea. “Sure?”

Louis doesn’t give Harry time for hesitations; he wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, bringing him close. Harry leans into his touch, Louis’ hard dick rubbing against his belly and the brush bringing a moan to his lips.

“Want to make you feel good too, Harry,” Louis whimpers, managing to grab the bottle of lube, spreading a good amount on his hands. Then he starts jerking Harry’s hard cock. The younger boy doesn’t do anything except breathe noisily, watching him with glossy eyes.

"You are good to me," Harry pants hoarsely. "My good boy." He stops Louis' motions, he doesn't want to come just yet. "Condom?”

Maybe he should answer yes, but he wants this, he wants to feel every drop of Harry’s come dripping from him, and if that sounds sickening, Louis doesn’t even care. He’s desperate to be draped in Harry. Harry makes him feel safe, full and protected; he wants it this way.

“No,” Louis gasps, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s sweaty neck. “Want you to fill me.”

Harry whines as a response. “Oh God. Of course, Gorgeous.”

Louis’ tiny hands guide Harry’s cock to his arse. Harry tightens his grip on his boy’s arm as Louis is teasing the head of his dick against his rim. His eyes flutter shut, his back arching in a desperate way to let go of all the sexual frustration he’s holding inside his body.

Harry kisses Louis on the mouth before pushing in for the first time. Louis feel his hole opening up to receive Harry’s cock, and fuck, he’s so fucking big.

There’s a burning sensation in Louis’s bum, his legs bobbles with the sensation, but Harry catches him, catching hold of his hips. He’s so big and so—

“Lou,” Harry gasps huskily.

“I’m fine,” Louis pants, nodding frantically as he tries to start moving, seeking to reach a rhythm. It hurts, but Harry starts praising him so well, moaning his name, that Louis doesn’t really want to stop despite the pain.

It’s so fucking intense, Louis’s arse burns, he feels as if he is being ripped in two. He buries his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, a little angry that he doesn’t have the strength to bottom him out just yet, weak.

“Hurts,” he finally gasps, tears prickling his eyes.

“Lou,” Harry says, he reach for his hand to hold as he waits, trying to make it better. “I can stop. I can—…”

“No,” Louis denies with a hoarse voice. His puffy lips presses a kiss to his skin, tongue tasting his body as he answer. “No, please, don’t stop. I want this.”

He wants to feel Harry close to him, he wants to let go of everything that has being a lie and give himself completely to the only person who has been right.

“You can do it, Pretty,” Harry praises him, kissing him for reassurance even when Louis knows that already.

Louis nods shyly with his head, gripping Harry’s hand firmly as he tries to move a little. “Okay.”

Harry starts moving in and out, first gradually as the pain in Louis slowly starts to fade away, replaced by a strong sensation that runs through his veins, poisoning his body and his mind. It’s pleasing, so pleasing that Louis can’t stop making filthy sounds, softs ‘ _ah, ah, ah_ ’ and calling Harry’s name. He tightens his legs around the boy in a silent plea to go faster, Harry does as he’s told, cock disappearing inside Louis’ body.

Harry rocks inside him gradually, gentle yet a little hurried, and the feeling becomes intense to the point of mindlessness.

“So tight,” Harry moans, reaching up to join their lips in a heated kiss. Harry barely lets him do anything, shoving his tongue into Louis’s mouth as he fucks him into oblivion.

The taste of Harry mixed with the little splashes of pleasure he’s starting to feel cause Louis to make the filthiest sounds, sounds that Harry swallows with his kisses. Harry makes long deep thrusts, moving in and out, and Louis forces himself to keep his eyes open to enjoy the pleasing sight he has right now, a wrecked Harry with puffy lips and closed eyes, head tilted back.

It sends Louis over the edge so quickly.

“Touch me,” Louis begs, his cock is hard, throbbing and fucking hurting from the need to come again.

“Yeah,” Harry whines, his hand wrapping around his dick. “Just please don’t hold your moans.”

As if it was possible. Louis moans like an animal in heat as his boy fucks him. When his cock hits his prostate, there’s nothing left in Louis that doubts or regrets this moment.

He wants to be fucked by Harry every single day for the rest of his life.

“I’m close,” Harry gasps, thrusting harder this time, completely inside Louis. He takes his cock without complaining, feeling the way his arse rim clutches around Harry’s dick, sending him over the edge.

“Ha-az,” Louis begs, lost in his cloud of blankness. “Fuck, yes.”

Harry jerks Louis’ cock as his thrusts become erratic and frantic, close to his climax. Louis is levelling up, his orgasm building in his belly.

Harry has his eyes glued on Louis, his lips puffy and wet with Louis’s saliva, his eyes so dark with lust. He’s breathing heavy already, so gone.

“I love you,” the younger boy pants, after he shoves especially hard and Louis moans so loudly that probably the entirely building hears him, but he doesn’t care. Harry shuts his eyes, opening his mouth and making the prettiest and hottest cry of pleasure Louis has ever heard.

He feels Harry coming inside him and it might be the best feeling in the world. He feels so full, in bliss, so one. They’re finally becoming one.

“Lo-love you t-too. Please,” he pleads when Harry relaxes a little. He doesn’t pull out yet; he grabs his dick and starts rubbing it harder until Louis comes for the second time with his name on his lips.

His orgasms blinds him for a moment and steals all his forces; his legs fall numb on bed and his eyes flutter shut, unable to even breathe. Harry falls dazed on him, too exhausted to move away.

They spend some minutes like that, bodies glued to each other, sweaty and smelling like sex.

Louis loves it though.

“Lou,” Harry gasps, finally poking his head up. “Are you… Fine? Did I…?”

“No,” Louis nods, moving his head a little to kiss him sweetly on the lips. “You didn’t hurt me. It was perfect. Thank you.”

“No, Lou. Thank you for trusting me.”

Harry smiles beautifully at him, his eyes shiny and glassy because of the exhaustion. Louis finally gets off Harry’s lap, finding how odd he feels without something inside, without Harry inside.

They don’t bother to dress up again bodies, curling up onto each other and kissing lazily like a proper married couple.

“Hold on, I’ll grab that blanket of yours,” Louis says, standing up and feeling the soreness on his ass and limbs. He comes back with a blanket and wraps them both on it, putting butterfly kisses all over Harry’s pretty face.

“I felt too much,” Harry whispers, staring at Louis in ecstasy. “I’m not used to this. You… You made me feel so much. It was like a madness of colors flashing upon my eyes, like a twist of emotions. The colors dizzied me.”

Louis smiles lovingly at him while his hands slowly caress Harry’s long curly hair,  hair that is now a mess.

“You’re one of a kind, you know that?”

“’M annoying,” Harry mutters, nibbling his thumb nervously. “I’m always feeling weird stuff.”

“Never,” Louis denies, leaning down to kiss him on the edge of his mouth. “You’re a treasure.”

“Aren’t you going to— I’d understand if you grow tired of my synesthesia or something.”

“Haz, listen to me,” Louis tells, locking gazes. “You hear my truths, you hear my lies. You make me a better person; you’re the best part of me. I can’t simply grow tired of the best part of me. Fuck, you never grew tired of me and that speaks so, so much about our love. You, Harry Styles, are part of my body, my life, and my fucking soul; as your synesthesia is. We,” he kisses him lightly in the mouth, feeling Harry’s body quivering when their lips touch, “We are made of colours.”

This isn’t about being gay or straight anymore and Louis knows this. This is about finding their better half, that person he wants to keep for the eternity.

“I love you, Louis.”

It isn’t something new, but it makes Louis’ heart flutter. The soft and low voice of Harry gets into his mind, caressing more than his body, caressing his soul. He wonders if his ‘I Love you’s sound American Rose, too. They probably do.

“Are we going to sleep here? The couch is uncomfortable, love.”

“Humm, wanna stay here with you,” Harry mumbles, snuggling against Louis’ body. “Tomorrow is Saturday, no one is going to come in.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Say it again? Please?”

Louis chuckles, knowing exactly what Harry is asking for.

“I love you,” Louis says it again because, why not? “I love you, Harry Styles. So much that it’s insane.”

“I just— God.” Harry is crying, the sap. Louis leans back, breaking the kiss. There’s a thread of his own saliva in Harry’s lip, Louis wants to lick it. “Say it again. I could die hearing it. Your voice—“

“My voice,” Louis repeats, smiling.

Harry buries his face on the crook of Louis’s neck, tightening his grip on his waist. “When you say it, your voice is American Rose.”

“Yeah. Our song,” Louis repeats, tasting the words in his mouth.

“Our song.”

Louis kisses Harry again just because he can. Harry sighs into the kiss, unable to believe  he’s living this.

“I’m so sorry I put you through so many shitty situations, Haz,” Louis whispers, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “I’m sorry that I rejected you. You didn’t deserve a broken heart, love. I want to get professional help. I need to get over this, for you.”

“Shush it, Lou,” Harry shakes his head, smiling as Louis never saw him smile before. “Of course if you feel like you need professional help, I will support you hundred percent. But there’s one thing you can do before, and I think it will help you a lot more.”

“What, Haz?”

“Talk to you mum. I know you told her everything, but you didn’t hear what she has to say. Listen to her. Sometimes, all you need is your mum.”

Harry has a point, Louis thinks. It’s not certain that talking solves everything, but it does solve a lot of things. His mom is the first person he’s trying to win over, to show her his value. It’s him against Troy, and maybe a little chat can make him win the battle.

“You’re right,” he nods. “Yes, I think I need to talk to mum. It’s…”

“Difficult,” Harry finishes for him, agreeing. “Of course it is. But I trust you, I know you can do it. Listen to her, she won’t hate on you. Maybe, Lou, it can solve most of this.”

“Yes. Yes, fair enough,” Louis nods, licking his lower lip. “I love you. God, it feels so good saying it.”

“It feels way much better hearing it, babe,” Harry teases, stealing a quick kiss from his lips. “It sounds American Rose.”

Louis watches Harry drifting into a deep dream, wrapped on his arms. He purrs happily before closing his eyes, cuddling against Louis’ warm body, and the older boy refuses to fall asleep before checking that Harry is finally peacefully sleeping.

“I love you, Kitten. This,” he points at Harry then at himself. “This is our forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No great love ever came without great struggle ♡
> 
> The final chapter and the epilogue are going to be updated next week. I'd love to hear your thoughts! ❤
> 
> Song for this chapter: [ Colors - Halsey (as per request for many readers) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNt28Tx-cw0)


	15. What's Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s love, Louis thinks. Harry is love, and everything they did for each other, the battles they are fighting; together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're in the last chapter of this story *cries forever* Hope you enjoy! ♥ Okay, get ready for my long, emotional acknowledgments ♡
> 
> First of all, I want to thanks [Jenny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jenguin/pseuds/jenguin) who came into my life in the middle of this fic and proofread it until the end. Babe, you're the angel of this story and you don't have idea how much your work means. You're a really, really important part of this story! Also, I'm happy that I met you thanks of this fic because you're awesome! ♡ 
> 
> Second, thanks to [Emi](https://www.wattpad.com/154561620-american-rose-l-s-espa%C3%B1ol-cap%C3%ADtulo-1-no-hemos) because she did (and still does) a wonderful job with her translation. She was constant with her updates and she was always super nice in all her messages. Thanks for reading and translating, little one! 
> 
> Third, I want to say special thanks for those readers who often commented. Your comments, no matter length or words, were always really encouraging and I loved reading them! Special thanks to **ChocoBunny, AreKool, BookishBookish and CueTheToomo**. Thank you for your sweet words, always 
> 
> Last, but not least, thanks to you. Thanks to every single little human who read, commented, left kudos, bookmarked and gave this story a chance. It doesn't matter if you did it silently and never commented, or if you left a comment or two, you mean the world to me ❤ This fic was an emotional journey and I enjoyed every bit of it. Thank you for being by my side in this journey!

_This is love_ , Louis thinks when he wakes up. Harry is cuddled up against him, sleeping peacefully as his chest moves to the rhythm of his breathing, Louis spooning him as he thinks yes, _this is love._

There’s nothing he regrets about last night, not a thing he would want to change. All his struggles, all his fears and battles are worth waking up to see this side of Harry; him trying to be as small as his lanky body allows him, lazily holding one of Louis’ hands.

Harry doesn’t think he’s worthless. God, Louis never feels worthless when he’s with his boy, he never feels like he’s being judged. He’s being him, he’s being free, and _that’s love._

 _Love is_ the way Harry doesn’t stop putting kisses all over Louis’ face when he wakes up, thanking him for the night they shared together, for the trust Louis put in him.

And if the studio room smells like sex and each other when they leave, well, _that’s love too._

 _Love is_ the way Harry stops at Starbucks and orders without even asking Louis what he wants, just because he knows what he wants. _Love is_ Louis giggling at Harry with a foam moustache and kissing it away.

 _Love_ … You know that loves does things to us, right? Louis notices that, he knows love has taken him over when he laughs at Harry’s silliest joke and when Harry holds his hand in public and he just doesn't care, despite Troy’s “voice”.

Louis knows _this is love_ as Harry drives down the street, eyes locked on the road as his holds Louis’ hand, humming a song under his breath. It doesn’t even need a proper explanation because he looks at him and he just thinks _yes, this is love._

Louis pretends his legs aren’t shaking as if they were made of jelly when he and Harry arrive at home. He doesn’t feel his body, really, the only thing he’s capable of feeling are his heartbeats, drumming inside his chest with the violence of a tornado.

The Tomlinson house is sunk in the Saturday calm, silent and tranquil, windows wide open and the distinguishing smell of homemade food wrapping its surroundings. _Love is that_ , too, and Louis is looking forward to wrapping himself in the smell of Harry’s cooking and the sound of their future children.

Louis glances at Harry in the corner of his eyes, who’s glued to his side, watching him silently. He’s waiting for him, walking at his step, respecting his silences, his moments.

( _That’s love_. The way they just know when the other is staring)

The caresses, the kisses and the soft moans they didn’t try to hold back still linger inside his mind, giving him strength. He wants that for the rest of his life, and _that’s love._

He turns around, facing his boy. Harry is already looking at him as a believer looks at an angel; as if Louis was some sort of miracle he was lucky enough to have.

“Are you scared, Lou?” Harry asks, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss from his lips. Louis closes his eyes, sighing into his mouth, lost in the soft touch of Harry’s lips.

“Yes,” he nods, swallowing the knot in his throat. “As hell.”

Harry smiles at him with a grin full of love, a smile Louis thought he would never be able to openly call his. He reaches for his hands, wanting to feel his boy because as silly as it sounds, it gives him strength.

“My boyfriend,” Harry whispers, cupping Louis’ face in his hands, resting his head against his. Louis chuckles, he knows how much Harry enjoys being able to call him boyfriend. Someday, Louis thinks, he will be able to call him husband. And if those thoughts aren’t love, well, then he doesn’t have a clue what love means. “You’re so brave, Lou. Always a fighter, never weak.”

“I’m pretty sure I was weak as hell last night, Harold,” Louis teases, rolling his eyes. “I blame you.”

“I take the blame proudly,” Harry giggles, smiling smugly as he kisses him.

“I can’t believe this, you know?” Louis asks, fixing the rebel curls that hang down Harry’s forehead. It’s hard to understand where they’re standing, Louis thinks.

“Being here… With you. I— I don’t know. I’m so fucking closeted, aren’t I?”

“I love you,” Harry interrupts him, catching him before he falls.

“Me too, Kitten.”

Louis is fucking shaking now. He’s aware of how close he is to his house, steps away from making all the lies go away. And it isn’t easy, you know, because he built a life around those lies, a life he hated, but a life that made him the perfect boy Troy wanted him to be.

“Will you be here with me?” Louis asks in a shy voice.

Harry’s answer is love. “Always.”

They kiss a little more, standing on the front porch. Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, lifting him from the floor a little in a rush of excitement. Louis giggles into the kiss, holding his boy and pressing his body impossibly close to his.

He feels so full when he’s with Harry. There’s nothing else, nothing he needs except his boy. He gives him the liberty of being who he is without judging, just loving.

And if Troy’s voice is trying to destroy his mind he doesn’t really care, because it’s the touch of Harry’s hand which makes it better, reassuring that everything is fine because, as long as those green eyes look at him with devotion and love in them, Louis knows he has a purpose.

The problem comes when he has to face someone, someone else, and someone different. He knows Harry will never judge him, he trusts him with his life, but it’s not like that with the rest of the world. He can’t even trust his own father, who broke his dreams, his hopes, his everything.

“What are you thinking?”

Harry’s soft voice matches the calm atmosphere of the morning. There are happy children yelling and laughing somewhere, as well as some birds singing. The air is chilly and the sunlight weak, but Louis doesn’t really care.

“Nothing concrete,” Louis replies with a low voice, fearful of breaking the gentle moment. “Just you. Us.”

Harry smiles and Louis thinks how he found him the best pet name because he’s actually a soft kitten, all cute and cuddly. He kisses his cheeks, one at a time.

“I like those thoughts,” Harry mumbles, and the smirk on his face makes Louis blush.

“I know where are you going, Styles.”

“Hum,” Harry whispers naughtily, leaning onto him to whisper in his ear. “Do your thoughts include you and me in bed?”

“Harry!” Louis exclaims, pushing him back a little. His smug face is difficult to wash away, and Louis might like it alot. “I’m near my house, on the verge of tears, about to come out and you think about sex?”

“I think about cuddles, too,” Harry adds, shrugging. “And kisses. And you.”

“Sap.” Louis rolls his eyes, scoffing. He loves this boy so much. How many times has he thought that already? No number is enough. “Can we go inside? I think I’m ready,” Louis whispers looking down at his feet. “I’m ready,” he emphasises.

“Yes, we can,” Harry nods, pulling away from him a little as they start to walk towards the door.

Louis feels it, the thumping beats of his heart. He’s possibly as nervous as never before, now he doesn’t have any place to escape or run to because now there’s no need to run; but it doesn’t mean he isn’t scared.

He’s scared as shit, but _love is_ fear, too.

He swallows the tears that are trying to win him over, coughing nervously. The walk towards the door is painfully slow, although it’s as fast as Louis never walked before.

It feels as if they’ll never reach it, but then Louis sinks into the realisation that Harry is knocking on the door. He leans into Louis and whispers, “I love you.”

 _That’s love_ , Louis thinks. _Harry is love_ , and everything they did for each other, the battles they are fighting; together.

The soft kiss he presses on the top of his neck doesn’t pass unnoticed by Louis, who smiles thankfully at the man who has become his whole life. They don’t notice when Fizzy takes a peek through the window to see who’s knocking.

“Mom!” Fizzy screams. “Mom, it's Louis!”

Harry gives Louis a reassuring squeeze with his hands, and he doesn’t attempt to drop it. Louis is glad.

“Louis? Louis is here?”

Lottie. Louis gives Harry one last glance before he hears the sound of the door opening. The world around him stops for a moment. His past, his present and his future raise in front of his eyes like an endless mountain he doesn’t think he’s capable of climbing.

He’s shaking, but Harry is holding his hand and the mountain, all of a sudden, doesn’t seem so imposing.

As the world begins to move again, Louis realises how beautiful the sun is and how warm everything is around his house.

When he faces his mum, he isn’t scared. He isn’t ashamed of being there, hand to hand with a man. He isn’t scared of Troy anymore.

He’s ready to fight.

The last thought in his mind before he walks into his house is _yes, this is love._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your last thoughts, comments and opinions! ♥ Don't miss the epilogue ;)
> 
> Song for this chapter: [Beautiful Now ft. Jon Bellion by Zedd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1a7o44WxNo)


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short epilogue dedicated to all my readers :) Thanks for being here. You rock, this story is yours.
> 
> [my tumblr](http://ijustgotowisharder.tumblr.com/)

“We’re lucky to have Louis Tomlinson with us this morning!”

It’s Nick’s voice that fills Harry’s world with colours this morning. He likes how it sounds, honestly. He glances at Jay, whose eyes are fixed on the floor. They’re both sitting outside the recording room, side to side, expectant.

They don’t really know what they should expect right now, but they hope it’s something good.

“Welcome to the Breakfast Show, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Thanks, Nick and hello everybody.” Red flashes upon Harry’s eyes, fire blazing inside his chest. Louis has the same effect on him as the very first time.

Jay glances at him when Louis starts talking and Harry offers her a smile.

“You’re a great producer, Tomlinson, I’m glad to have you here. You produced an amazing record for Foxes and now you released a new collaboration with Halsey in the song called American Rose. As far as I know, it has been on the top chart for two weeks now, how do you feel about that?”

Harry can’t hide the smile that cracks his face, pride bursting out of his chest.

“Pretty great, I won’t lie to you,” he replies. Harry smiles at Louis even though Louis can’t see him. He’s staring at Nick and moves his tiny hands as he talks, a signal that, despite his efforts, he’s still a little nervous. “For Parma Ham Records it was an achievement to collaborate with Halsey, she’s an amazing artist.”

“And you made a duet with her. Were you planning on becoming a singer? You’re sneaky, Tomlinson, you are full of secret plans.”

Jay chuckles by Harry’s side. Louis turns to him for a brief instant to give him the most sincere and loving smile he can make. It makes Harry’s heart flutter like a teenager.

“I really wasn’t into singing until now,” Louis confesses and the shade of his voice lowers its saturation, he’s nervous. “The song I wrote is very personal. It’s meaningful not only for me, but also for one special person. We contacted Halsey to collaborate with me, and she was thrilled with the idea.”

“She made the right decision,” Nick nods, turning to Halsey, who has just arrived at the room, putting on her headphones and sitting next to Louis’. “Looks who’s here! Are you regretting this collaboration, my dear Halsey? I know Tomlinson can be a proper pain in the arse.”

“Are you kidding?” the girl says loudly. “Not in a million years! American Rose was meant to be a duet. Louis is an amazing singer, also.”

“Would you rather be a singer or a producer, Tomlinson?”

“I’d like to be a producer for the long term,” Louis replies, frank. “But I can use a little singing, too.”

Nick cracks into laughter, throwing his head back as Jay giggles under her breath, too. Liam, who’s sitting on the table, sighs as he runs his hand down his face.

“Seems like you have a new artist at the label, Liam.” Harry teases, winking at his friend.

“I knew it,” Liam admits, rolling his eyes. “Better watch out for your man, Harry, girls are going to be crazy for him.”

Harry smirks, pleased about hearing people calling Louis his man. They have been doing fine, he thinks. Louis came out to his close inner circle and it happened that no one was really surprised. Even Daniela confessed it was pretty obvious for her how gone Louis was for Harry.

He proposed to Harry, and although they hadn’t made their engagement known yet, the ring Harry wears makes him prouder than any other thing.

“So, Tomlinson, you told me this was a very personal song,” Nick broaches the topic, the topic Harry knew Louis feared the most. He stands up and walks towards the glass, leaning against it as he tries to catch Louis’ attention. “It’s a song about…”

“Colours,” Halsey replies, hurrying to save Louis from this. “Well, that’s the obvious meaning, but deep down it’s a song about fears, sex, love and coming out.”

“Does it mean that Louis Tomlinson, music producer and future successful singer, is gay?”

Harry's breathing flinches, watching Louis twitch on his seat. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t talk. The younger boy can swear his own heart is trying to jump out of his chest, beating in a hurried shade of auburn as Louis’ silence turns coated red.

“Nick, I…” Halsey begins to say because she’s nice like that, trying to save Louis from the uncomfortable moment.

“I don’t like to label my sexuality.”

It’s Louis’ voice Harry hears next. He takes the words and his voice wraps the radio studio in a blurred shade of raspberry, the shade of honesty. Chills run up Harry’s spine, scared and thrilled for the moment.

“What do you mean?”

“I know it’s a song about coming out, but it’s also a song about loving someone with your whole heart and being who you are,” Louis is talking a little louder, strong and secure in every word he speaks. Harry can feel the pride pouring out his body, touched by Louis’ bravery. “It’s a song about the man I love.”

“So you’re in love, then?” Nick asks and Halsey giggles at his side.

“Yes, I am,” Louis confirms, steady. “In love with the most wonderful man you could ever meet.”

“The man you love,” Nick repeats, glancing at Harry, who’s glued to the glass. He can see in Louis’ face how hard he’s struggling to keep his composure, and Nick might be a little shitty for losing the chance to fuck Harry, but he’s not a bad man, so he simply adds, “It’s nice to see true love out there. I know your man, and you two love each other very much.”

“Thank you,” Louis whispers.

“Okay, enough of this romantic soap opera,” Nick cuts the cheesy atmosphere. “Let’s hear the song. Halsey, do you want to…”

Harry doesn’t listen anymore because Louis has left his seat and walks out from the room towards him. He falls into his arms, letting Harry hug him and kiss his forehead.

“I’m shaking,” Louis whispers, hiding his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Yes, he is shaking and his voice is scared, but Harry is so proud of him.

“I’m proud of you,” Harry whispers in his ear, kissing the lines of his neck. “I’m so proud of you, Lou. God, I love you.”

“I love you too, Harold.”

Jay has approached her son and she pats him on the back, smiling wide at him. Louis turns to her, still holding onto Harry, and smiles back. “Hey, Mum.”

“You’re such an amazing artist, Louis,” she says, leaning into kiss her son on the forehead. “And very brave, too. Is he still there?”

Harry knows what she’s asking…. She’s asking if Troy’s voice is still there, shattering Louis’ mind. He squeezes his boy’s body, bringing him closer in a silent attempt to let him know that he’s here and he’s always going to be, the anchor for the rope.

He knows maybe the voice is still there because the mean voices always find their way to resist, but he also knows Louis is strong enough to fight back.

“Nah, Mum,” Louis replies and Harry doesn’t hear rosewood. He barely remembers the last time he heard the rosewood in Louis’ voice, and the simple fact makes him so happy that it’s hard to put in words. “I barely hear him. I’d rather kiss this silly kitten over here.”

“Heeeeeey,” Harry pouts, demanding a kiss. Louis chuckles softly at him and stands on his tiptoes to join their mouths in a kiss.

“I love you, Harry Styles.”

“I love you too, Louis Tomlinson.”

They kiss a little more, their love anthem playing on the back, wrapping them in a nice shade of American Rose.


End file.
